


baby, it's cold outside

by wearecities (falsetto)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsetto/pseuds/wearecities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows any of the other boys would do it, wouldn’t even give it a second thought, but they all have their own commitments and, well, Liam has a half empty flat and no particular desire to spend Christmas on a beach.</p><p>“You could. I mean, whilst you’re trying to figure things out, you could stay with me?” The question feels awkward on his tongue even though Harry’s stayed at his enough times, sometimes without Liam knowing until the morning after. Just usually Liam doesn’t have to ask.</p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Harry and Liam spend Christmas together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, it's cold outside

**Author's Note:**

> well. uhm. this was meant to be about quarter of the length and half the plot but now it turns out the longest thing i've ever written is christmas fic. so that's a joy. usual warnings of terribleness and schmoop. but mostly the biggest, biggest, biggest, hugest thanks to dee [andwhatyousaid](http://andwhatyousaid.tumblr.com/) for holding my hand as i wailed about this and also fixing my awful grammar and generally being amazing i love u and im sorry <3\. uhm, anyway, happy holidays :)

Liam wakes up to a jolt of turbulence. It’s not much, just the shortest nudge of his chair, but the ding of the seatbelt sign turning on brings him out of his light doze, has him scrunching his eyes shut just to blink them open blearily. His phone reads three p.m. when he finally fumbles for it, but he can’t even begin to remember what time zone it’s in. The cabin’s dark-- just the dim glow of amber from the runway lights in the aisle and the fluorescent gleam of the small pull-out screen next to him. He yawns, clips his seat belt into place and shuts his eyes again. 

“Morning,” Harry croaks out from next to him, just audible over the rustling of his blanket as he tries to fasten his own belt. 

“Afternoon,” Liam corrects, half as a joke, half to remind him that he probably shouldn’t be this bone-tired. He cracks an eye open again, only for a second to glance over at Harry who looks just as dead as he feels, buried under two jumpers and the too-starched complimentary blanket. 

The plane jolts again and Liam wakes up properly. He takes an instinctive glance over to where Zayn’s sat a row ahead, knows that this whole hurtling through the sky in a metal can still sometimes gets the better of him, but Louis’s already ignoring the seatbelt sign, sneaking across the aisle with all the stealth of Bambi on ice. The air hostess will probably pay no mind, Liam knows most of them by first name now after all the back and forth flights.

Sitting back once he hears Louis cackle, he finds Harry looking over at the same spot, brow furrowed. It aches a little to know they have the same instincts, even if they can barely remember their own name from how exhausted they are. Harry catches Liam’s gaze, face relaxing, lips quirking up.

“S’alright, Liam,” he says, voice thick with the edges of sleep, chin still tucked under his cover, feet probably curled up under him where they’re out of view. There’s an episode of some American sitcom playing on his screen, but his headphones are strewn on the floor in front of him; Liam’s screen is half-way paused through _Despicable Me 2_. “This is just the part where it does the loopty-loop, remember.” 

Chuckling, Liam shakes his head. He tries to stretch out his legs in front of him and rid him of some of the restlessness in his muscles. He’s only slept about two hours out of the six they’ve been flying and really, right now, he just wants a cigarette, a cup of tea and a bed, any bed, even the bunks on the bus would be better than this. They’re probably less empty than what he’s eventually going home to. He knows that by the time he gets to his flat all traces of another person ever being there will be gone; he’s really, really trying not to think about it, though. 

“Excited to go home?” comes from beside him and Liam turns back round, rests his cheek on the seat as he looks at Harry. 

“Yeah. Kind of. S’weird, innit?” Liam trails off, rubs his cheek against the scratchy material over the headrest to get rid of a tickle on his cheek. Harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, nodding. “You?” 

“Same, really,” Harry answers. “Mum and Robin are off on some romantic getaway ‘til the twenty-seventh. Skegness or Singapore, can’t remember. Or maybe it was Spain.” He pauses, hums like he’s really trying to figure it out. “Their first Christmas as newlyweds, I guess. They said I could tag along but that’s not a situation I wanna be in, quite honestly.” 

“What about Gem?” Liam asks. He gets it, though-- it’s hard enough to see family with your own schedule, but then there’s theirs too. It’s not fair to think any of them will just stop their plans at a drop of a hat because there’s finally an empty gap. 

“Got herself a boytoy, in’t she, think she’s jetting off with him too.” Harry rolls his eyes, but Liam knows if Gemma’s protective streak over him is a mile, Harry’s for her is twice that and then a little bit more. 

“Couples,” Liam grimaces, pulling the most disgusted face he can muster. Harry copies it, makes it even worse, and Liam chokes back a guffaw, claps a hand over his mouth when he realises that half the plane is in varying stages of restless sleep now. “So, where are you gunna kip. With Ben? Or Nick?” 

“It’s--” Harry pauses for a second. “I dunno. Doesn’t feel right intruding during this time of year, you know? Nicks probably off to his parents anyway and Ben has his own family. I’ll figure something out.” 

It’s silent for an instant, save for another muffled laugh from over where Louis’s probably terrorising Zayn, trying to distract him from each bump of the plane and there’s a choked off snore that’s definitely Niall. Just like before, it’s instinct. Instinct for Liam to completely forget about the ticket to Hawaii he’s got booked for next week-- a last minute family holiday, one they haven’t had in ages. He knows any of the other boys would do it, wouldn’t even give it a second thought, but they all have their own commitments and, well, Liam has a half empty flat and no particular desire to spend Christmas on a beach.

“You could. I mean, whilst you’re trying to figure things out, you could stay with me?” The question feels awkward on his tongue even though Harry’s stayed at his enough times, sometimes without Liam knowing until the morning after. Just usually Liam doesn’t have to ask.

“Liam,” Harry starts, drags it out in his low tone. “I couldn’t-- I mean. What about your plans? Aren’t you off on holiday?”

“Yeah, but. Well, I’ve been dreading it, to be honest.” Liam pauses as a flight attendant strides down the aisle, proper and prim as she smiles down at them briefly before moving on. “Not spending time with my family. Just-- Ruth’s got her boy and Nicola’s got hers. Even mum’s got dad and then there’s me, lonely ol’ pleb. S’not like I can take Loki.” 

He doesn’t add the part where he won’t even have Loki straight away when he gets home, that another reminder of a failed relationship is co-owning a dog he barely gets to see anyway, will only get for a couple of days over his break.

“I don’t know, Liam.” Harry’s starting to look mildly swayed though. Liam knows Harry enough that he’ll break soon enough, Liam knows there’s nothing Harry hates more than being alone. Even if Liam hadn’t had offered, he would have found a way to surround himself with people, not that it’s too difficult, but it’s not the same as family, same as the boys. 

“C’mon. We’ll wear dressing gowns all day and watch _Spongebob_ , I won’t even make you sit through _Iron Man_. Unless you want to, because you should.”

“Well,” Harry hums for a second, pulls a face of deep internal contemplation that Liam can see right through. “Alright then, when you put it that way,” but he’s grinning from under his cocoon of duvet, eyes bright under the reading light above him.

“Sick. You can have Loki’s bed, he can bunk with me.” Liam grins back, feeling a little more at ease about getting back on English soil, and Harry throws his headphones at him, squawks when the wire, which had been tangled around his neck, tightens. Liam cackles, grabbing the nearest object to hit him with in retaliation. 

The thing is, his mum will probably cry-- well, cry some more; she hasn’t had a dry face since 2010. But the trip is all expenses paid by Liam, so she can stay hydrated with as many cocktails served in pineapples as Liam can bribe Ruth into giving her. This year, there’s been so much madness that the thought of a calm quiet holiday season appeals a little more than working through the many unending quirks of a family trip away. The content look on Harry’s face drives it home though, the way he looks like a weight has been lifted off of him. 

Liam manages to sleep for the rest of the flight. 

 

\--

 

Liam’s mum does in fact cry, and then cries some more when he tells her the reason why he can’t come anymore, managing a slightly snotty and wet, ‘ _such a lovely boy, Liam._ ’ Harry’s currently thrashing about in the kitchen, trying to make something out of the scraps Liam has left over from the last time he was home, and Liam glances over briefly, before being pulled back into the conversation with his mum. He manages to calm her down by the time he hangs up with promises of a visit as soon as they’re back from holiday and four apologies tacked onto the end after a maybe slightly exaggerated retelling of Harry’s situation.

“Karen alright?” Harry shouts from the kitchen once Liam’s sunk back into the sofa. 

It still feels a little weird, a little foreign, the home in his head still a cramped bunk, an unknown hotel room and four other boys. Will still have to remember its eight steps down the hall in the dark to the bathroom, not a cautious flat-footed shuffled through strewn clothes and a darkened aisle, still has to remember that he doesn’t have to leave the light on if he’s not the last one to bed, that in the morning he doesn’t have to get out more than one mug. And as soon as he gets used to it, usually, he’s off again. 

“Bit upset but she understands,” Liam answers, phone buzzing as his sisters catch wind of the news. He turns his phone off, chucking it to the side. “May have told a little porky to get her off my back, though. If she asks, you cried on my shoulder, okay?” 

“Heyyyy,” Harry drags out, popping his head round the door with an exaggerated frown. “If anything _you_ cried, practically begged me to stay. ‘ _Harry, Harry please. Keep me warm on these cruel winter nights._ ’”

“You know invitations can be revoked, right?” 

“You’d never,” Harry states, with a sure sense of confidence and, well, no he probably wouldn’t. “Anyway, dinner’s ready.” 

When Liam finally manages to free himself from the clutches of his sofa, deep leather cushions doing their part to keep him sunken in, Harry’s at the table waiting for him, two plates of spaghetti hoops on toast in front of him with three different takeaway menus next to them. 

“Look,” Harry starts just as Liam raises an eyebrow and sits down opposite him. “Think of this as a starter, keep us going ‘til proper food comes.” Liam pokes at his toast. “Well, it was either this or stale coco pops with chunky milk.” 

“It’s fine, Haz.” Liam grins, he has no idea why he even owns spaghetti hoops, but it’s actually what he needs right now, a piece of home, something to remind him of Friday night snacks with his dad before settling down with the telly for the night. He chases a hoop with his fork, pops it into his mouth. “Really.”

“So, Thai, then?” Harry asks, halfway through his toast, waving one of the menus.

“Pizza?” 

“Both?” Harry counters, waggling his eyebrows, and Liam thinks they’re already off to a good start.

 

\--

 

After an exhausting round trip of Greater London, including just past the outskirts and an almost riot on the tube, to collect the most of Harry’s belongings and wardrobe, it’s easy for Harry to settle into Liam’s home routine-- a little off from his tour routine, less screaming crowds and more endless marathons of _Catfish_ accompanied with a stack of chocolate bourbons and a glass of milk.

Harry’s overthrown the guest room, made it his with his journals stacked up on the bedside table, clothes filling the wardrobe and a burning candle, which smells like Santa’s Grotto. Well, it’s something like apple and cinnamon and cedar wood, but Liam only gets from it the memory of being forced into itchy suits and asked to sit on an old man’s lap.

Even if they live in each other’s space all the time, it’s never this long just the two of them, and although they pretty much know every little tick and pulse of each other, it’s unnerving how much more Liam’s learning-- like how Harry grins all sloppy after two glasses of wine and three episodes of Gavin and Stacey, red-stained lips and the slowly trailing end of a laugh caught in his eye; how he glows after a good nights sleep, not the recommended eight or whatever hours, but a complete whole night of uninterrupted bliss, hair soft and curled across his forehead, eyes bright when he appears in the doorway; how he feels dozing off in one of Liam’s hoodies, although it’s more likely that it’s Zayn’s, sprawled out on the L of the corner sofa, cheek resting on Liam’s leg, chest rising in short, quick hitches before it evens out for two or three deep breaths, repeating.

It’s things Liam’s probably noticed before, but it feels magnified without the rest of the boys creating chaos around them, without Niall narrating their every move in song accompanied with his guitar, or Louis slowly piling pieces of furniture and stationery on top of the currently dozing Harry, Zayn giving directions with his arms outstretched and fingers in a makeshift frame. 

Liam tries not to give it much thought. Completely annihilating Harry at Fifa right now is more important, anyway.

 

\--

 

“Liam. Liiiiam.” Currently Thea is crying on Nev’s shoulder, having spent three years talking to a girl she met online who refuses to meet her in real life. Liam has bets on it being the wrong person; Harry, ever the optimist, thinks they’re real. There’s servant rights on it for a day and Liam really wants to win. “Liam!” 

“Shhh, they’re googling, love this part.” Liam pushes his hand in the general vicinity of Harry, who’s sat next to him on the sofa, getting a palm over his face in one go and making a half-hearted shove. In retaliation Harry licks Liam’s palm and grabs his wrist, trying to twist it up behind Liam’s back. Liam tenses his arms and with another easy shove, Harry’s on the floor in a single quick motion. Liam grins down at Harry, propping his feet up on Harry’s sprawled form. It’s honestly like he never learns.

“Liam, listen to me,” Harry says, although it’s muffled by Liam’s feet pushing his face down into the rug. Liam turns his head towards Harry, but keeps his eyes trained on the telly; they’re on the flight now and Thea’s still crying, it’s all very intense. “Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam--”

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m listening. What?” Liam mutes the telly, chucking the remote across the sofa. Harry takes a deep breath, unearthing his face from the carpet and sitting up.

“I’m bored.” It’s an expression Liam has seen one too many times, petulant and childish and makes Harry look five years younger with his bottom lip pouted and his eyebrows scrunched together. Liam wants to tug Harry’s hair and stick his tongue out at him. 

“It’s been two days, we’re relaxing.” 

“Yes, but if I have to spend another day watching MTV I’m going to eat my own foot,” Harry groans..

“Well you should eat the one on your longer leg, even things out a bit.” Liam grins and Harry rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are dimpling, a laugh caught in the thin line of his mouth. 

“Liam, c’mon,” He tries again, shuffling forward to rest his chin on Liam’s legs, looking up at him through his lashes. Liam flicks him in the centre of his forehead. “It’s Christmas, we’re in London. There’s so much to do, so much to see, so much to _eat_.” 

“So many crowds, so many people, so many people wanting to eat us alive,” Liam lists off, a poke to the side of Harry’s head to emphasise. 

“Don’t be like that. We’ll wear disguises, we’ll buy out selfridges, I just _need_ to do something.” Harry looks like he’s about two seconds away from biting Liam’s finger off so he stops, rubs at Harry’s scalp to quell him.

“Well, call one of your Primrose crew.” Liam tries to make it sounds like an offhand comment, but he knows that Harry’s usually glued to them, wonders if he misses spending time with them when the tether of his boredom has obviously been stretched tight by Liam.

“That’s not fair, this is _our_ Christmas. Lads Christmas. Lets go get pissed on mulled wine and throw up on an ice rink.” Harry stares up at Liam. Then continues staring, unblinking, eyes starting to water up with restrain. Quite honestly, it’s a little bit terrifying; Liam’s unsure whether Harry’s still breathing. 

“Fine, okay, fine. Give me a couple more hours of nothing, though,” Liam gives in, worried that Harry will pass out if he doesn’t answer soon.

“Yes!” Harry fist-pumps the air, narrowly misses hitting Liam square in the chin before he settles down again, cheek pillowed on Liam’s knee, facing the telly instead.

On screen, the door to the ‘Catfishers’ house opens and Thea’s met with the exact girl she was talking to, beaming even if she looks slightly nervous. Even with the telly on mute, Liam can hear her scream, the pounding of her feet as she runs up the porch stairs and into the other girls’ arms. 

“Ha, now you’re my servant too.” 

Rolling his eyes, Liam delivers one last poke to the back of Harry’s head.

There’s a close-up of the new couple kissing, laughing into each other’s mouths as they clutch at each other, and Liam definitely doesn’t glance over at the empty frame on his mantelpiece, the gap where a pair of small boots should fit next to his in the hallway. He can feel Harry’s smile pressed into his leg where Harry’s still leaning against him, the movement of Harry’s jaw as he lets out a small ‘ _aw_ ’, like he does everytime there’s a happy ending. Liam ignores that too. 

 

\--

 

Of course, Harry’s made a list. In the two hours that Harry left Liam to carry on savouring his last shreds of complete and utter nothingness, he’s made a list of everything they need to do. Liam knows the page is ripped out of one of Harry’s fancy journals too, paper thick with silver embossed lining, full of his curving script. The first point is Christmas Shopping; it’s got a shoddy drawing of a wrapped present next to it. 

“Haz,” Liam begins, skimming over the rest of the list. “You know there’s online shopping now, right?” 

“Don’t even start that with me, Li. My mum has no need for a camera lens mug or some novelty shaped slippers off eBay.”

“I’ll have you know _my_ mum loved her cow slippers last year,” Liam retorts, pushing Harry’s list back over to him and taking a sip of his tea. She’d found it extra hilarious when Liam mooed every time she stepped into them, and when he hid them under the sofa when roast beef was served for dinner.

“You know I’m not like that,” Harry frowns out, slightly apologetic as if he feels like he’s actually offended Liam. 

Liam snorts, pushes his foot against Harry’s under the table and Harry nudges him back, keeping their feet entangled. It’s true, though-- Harry even made Liam’s sisters cry with what he got Liam for his birthday. “Quirky and that,” Liam snorts, digging his toe into the underside of Harry’s foot.

“So, Oxford Street? Westfield? Or we could take a trip out to the Bullring?” 

“You _just_ said that you didn’t want to get ‘ _eaten alive_.’” Harry even emphasises it with air quotes; Liam digs his toe in harder until Harry yelps. 

“Where were you thinking? Camden?” Harry traps Liam’s feet under his-- and even though Liam could probably free himself easily, wrap his legs around Harry’s ankles and pull him off his chair and under the table, he leaves them there. They’re cold, anyway, he’s sockless and Harry’s donning thick, fluffy ones with a reindeer protruding out of them. It only makes sense.

“I don’t want to get my family a legal high,” Harry says and Liam bites his lip. “C’mon, get your coat. I’ll drive, it’ll be an adventure.”

“Lad’s adventure?” 

“Yes bro, we’ll go get high off fumes at the perfume counter,” Harr says, voice gruff and chest puffed out. He holds his fist out and Liam tries to hide his fond grin, bumping the side of their knuckles together before he pushes away from the table.

“You’re a twat.” Liam says, but he’s grinning and Harry beams back, grabbing Liam’s legs with his own and pulling Liam off his chair, under the table. And, well, Liam never learns either.

 

\--

 

They end up on some back street near Brick Lane and Liam should’ve guessed, really. It’s cold enough that he can still feel the chill through his coat, zipping it up all the way to the collar and tucking his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his feet to try and regain some semblance of warmth whilst Harry stops outside every window of every boutique, peering in. 

If any street could resemble _A Christmas Carol_ , it would be this one though, with lavishly decorated shop windows, cobbled streets and the thick smell of pine and coffee in the air. Harry fits right in, long black coat and woolen scarf, the heel of his boots clicking against the stone beneath them. He’s humming something that sounds suspiciously like _Santa Baby_ , thumbing through a rack of greetings cards outside of an empty shop. 

“Hey, look, Li,” Harry calls him over, and Liam tears his eyes away from a mechanical dancing Santa to glance over. “Look, it’s you,” Harry’s holding out a black and white card with a naked Abercrombie and Fitch-esque model on the front in nothing but a meer sprig of mistletoe covering up all the goods. “Even he got his boxers stolen, it’s a bloomin’ epidemic.” 

Liam strikes a pose in the middle of the street, flexing his biceps and squinting off into the distance. Barking out a laugh, Harry rolls his eyes, tucks the card under his arm, and continues rummaging. Liam raises an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, hey. Don’t look at me like that. Gunna send it to my Nan. Or Nick.” Harry picks up a card next with a dog with reindeer antlers, bold red letters reading ‘ _Ooo I think I see Santa Paws_ ’ across the top. “Or maybe this one.” 

“They have us!” Liam exclaims and even though their faces are pretty much everywhere, it’s still a surprise. The picture’s probably about a year old, all of them grinning and piled on top of each other, signed ‘ _Merry Christmas from One Direction_ ’. They look about ten years old, though, and Liam can barely remember the photoshoot, didn’t even know it was being used on a Christmas card. 

“Ooo, maybe Nan would like that instead.” Harry takes the card from Liam and holds it out in front him alongside the Liam doppelganger, weighing them up in his hands with a considering look on his face. 

“Is it even a question, Haz,” Liam helps. “I’ll even pop me autograph in.” 

Harry tucks the naked model back into the card rack, takes a second to cackle down at their baby faces beaming back at him from the photo before wandering off into the shop to pay.

 

\-- 

 

It’s inevitable that Liam gets ladened with all the bags-- six in one hand and four in the other, Harry taking full advantage of winning their bet. Liam doesn’t even complain when Harry drops another ridiculously heavy bag into his hand; Liam’s held up the side of the bets he’s won enough times that this is almost like getting away scot-free. Although it’s really mostly for show, Harry will probably feel bad in about half an hour and take the bags off him. 

“How many people are you buying for, Haz?” Liam heaves the bags further up his arm and widens his eyes in the surest form of innocence when something inside clatters loudly. 

They don’t do Christmas presents for each other anymore, opting for joint birthday presents and a carefully planned lads night out post-season. They’re always buying small trinkets for each other on the road, anyway-- a tradition that started of its own accord, spotting stuff in whatever country they’re in for whatever reason, thinking of each other and not batting an eye as they fork out for it themselves: a band t-shirt Harry spotted for Niall or a box set for Louis from Zayn, it’s just something they do unconsciously now. It feels a little more personal than the rush of Christmas and four different orders off Amazon with next day delivery and, upon receiving, a quirked eyebrow and an ‘ _uh, thanks for the teapot cosy?_.’ 

“Gotta have extras, just in case.” Harry’s inspecting something that very much looks like a shisha pipe in the shape of an octopus. He picks it up, turns it over, hums for a second before deeming it worthy to add to his collection of increasingly weird gifts. Liam doesn’t question it, though, knowing that each one-- even the set of floral china tea cups and rusted antique corkscrew-- all have their own meanings, backstories and in-jokes, which mean a tangled necklace of seashells mean a lot more than just some pretty, albeit strange, accessory. 

“In case what? You’re going to grow new friends in a week or so?” Liam asks. 

Harry spots something on the other side of the table of knickknacks he’s currently perusing, but he glances away quickly, picking up a leather bound diary and flipping through the pages. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Harry mutters, thumb stopping the pages at the end of March before he lets it go, dropping it back on the table in a cloud of dust. “Think I’m nearly done. D’ya think you could go grab us a drink from the café across the road? Just need to pay for this.” He holds up the octopus pipe, giving it a little shake. 

“Don’t really have a say in it, do I? Butler Payno today.” Liam hands off a few bags to Harry, shifting them about so they’re easier to carry.

“Alright, Jeeves, I don’t pay you to complain,” Harry says. “Get me whatever’s their Christmas special, I want my mouth to taste like Lapland.” 

The special is Spiced Apple Tea and it looks absolutely disgusting. Liam buys it straight away, makes it a venti and asks if they can get it any spicier. He orders a mint hot chocolate for himself, whipped cream, mini marshmallows and extra chocolate syrup to top it off. For good measure, he adds two gingerbread men decorated in green and red icing with smarties for eyes to the order. 

“Aw, mine’s smile is all droopy.” Harry frowns at it when Liam finds him waiting outside and passes it over. He bites its head off first, then its leg, grinning with teeth full of biscuit crumbs. 

“Fit,” Liam frowns, and Harry sticks his tongue out after his next bite. Liam’s tempted to pour the tea over Harry’s head-- and if it wasn’t scolding hot and they were backstage at some venue, not in the middle of a London street, then he probably would. He just hands it to Harry instead, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. 

“Whassit?” Harry gets out through the crumbs, sniffing through the hole in the plastic lid. He scrunches up his nose, shrugs and tastes it. 

“Is it good?” Liam asks, matching Harry’s steps as they start down the street, his stomach grumbling as he watches Harry finish off his gingerbread man. Pulling his own out of the packet, he flips it over before taking a bite, not particularly wanting to see its gooey smiley face when he’s gnawing on its arm. 

“Mmm, tastes like my candle,” Harry nods, taking another sip. Liam’s unsure whether that’s a good thing, but Harry looks happy, fingers wrapped around the cup to keep him warm, humming another tune as they turn the corner. “Just one more thing I want to do before we head back. There’s a massive tree down here, Lou said, just wanna Instagram it.” 

“You kids and your internet,” Liam shakes his head and Harry knocks their shoulders together. He doesn’t move that far away after so their arms keep brushing with every step. 

“I’ll convert you yet, Payno. Remember what Niall said and now he’s King Selfie.” Harry stops for a second, glances down another street before tucking his hand into the crook of Liam’s elbow, steering him round. 

The skies just starting to get darker, streets getting busier with the night-owls of London, and Liam subconsciously tucks his nose into his scarf, ducking his head and making himself smaller, as if it will make it harder for people to spot two popstars walking arm in arm. They haven’t been properly recognised yet, only a comment or two when getting served in the shops and Liam doesn’t really want to break the streak. 

They make it to a wide open square, a flock of pigeons milling around the bottom of a ridiculously overly flashy Christmas tree and Harry walks a touch faster, bouncing on his toes. Coming to a stop just on the edge, Harry lets out a low whistle, eyes travelling the height of it until he’s focused on the gold star at the top.

“Reckon I could climb it?” Liam breaks the silence between them, words coming out in a breath of thick fog. 

“I’ll give you a boost,” Harry answers, serious, and Liam grins. 

It’s only then-- when Harry tries to fish for his phone in his pocket without disconnecting them-- that Liam realises Harry’s arm is still tucked through his, but it’s not a surprise, not the first time, probably not even the hundredth. It’s always been easy for them, casual touches whenever they’re near enough. Easy to fall to each other for support during their early days, easy to get pulled into Harry’s own abnormal orbit of charm, easy to go from punches and pushes to crawling into bed for cuddles when they’re homesick, easy to take the weight off Harry in interviews when the rumours start to run him dry, easy to tease and insult and be unbearably embarrassingly truthful with each other. 

Harry’s face glimmers in the reflection of the twinkling lights, and Liam takes another sip of his hot chocolate, burning the tip of his tongue. He swallows it down, chasing it with another scolding bite. 

 

\--

 

There’s the distinct sensation of being weightless when Liam wakes up. The car journey home was slow, caught in enough peak time rush that they were at a standstill for most of it, Harry singing along softly enough to the radio that Liam conked out in seconds, head pressed against the window and arms crossed against his chest. Now though, now he feels like he’s flying.

“Harry-- Harry what?” Liam grumbles, trying to shake himself awake whilst also trying to figure out why he’s partially upside down.

“I, uh. Didn’t want to wake you.” Harry says from somewhere below him and Liam realises that he’s half over Harry’s shoulder, feet still in the car, and Harry’s trying to _carry_ him. There is no way in any scenario that this will end well and Liam know’s that, even though the thought is very sweet, so he vehemently tries to fight out of Harry’s grasp.

“No. Haz, let go, you’re going to drop me.” 

“Liam, s’fine. You know I’ve been taking yoga, balance and tha--” Harry tugs a little too hard and down they go. Thankfully the area next to the road is grass, but unfortunately the mud underneath the grass is completely frozen, although Harry’s kind enough to pillow Liam’s fall. Harry groans.

“Ow.” Liam supplies, helpfully, face dug into the back of Harry’s head.

“Ok, ok. I had that coming,” Harry groans out again, shifting underneath him. “Now get off me, you heffalump.” 

Struggling to find his bearings after being thrown upside down and then straight on the floor, Liam manages to roll off of Harry and onto his back next Harry with a groan of his own. 

A flash goes off somewhere across the road, three quick shutter sounds and Liam stills, whipping his head round. There’s one lone pap, probably caught a glance of them shopping and tailed them back here. It doesn’t bother Liam as much now; for the most part they aren’t even that bad, quick snap and they’re gone, but it’s usually the lie that goes with it in the tabloid that gets to Liam.

“Been on the lash, lads?” The pap calls over, camera held in his hand, and Liam fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Not this time, Tony,” Harry shouts back, rolling onto his back too and of course Harry knows his name, probably one of them that takes residence outside of Nick’s whenever Harry’s there. There’s another flash and just like that Liam’s near perfect day has a dent in it, a black mark, but Harry’s turning his head towards Liam, smile big and warm, reaching for his hand in the tangle of limbs and squeezing. 

It’s stupid, the pictures won’t even make any sense, and the thought of trying to explain them is so ridiculous that Liam starts giggling, biting his lip until Harry can’t hold it in either and he’s laughing too, loud and sharp, piercing through the still of the night. Liam’s chest hurts and his cheeks ache and he can’t catch his breath-- every time one of them stops, the other starts and between them their fingers are still entangled, the crispy grass below them and starless sky above. 

 

\--

 

Liam doesn’t wake up until 11 the next day. It sets him off wrong, he feels groggy and out of it, but that may have to do with the fact that after the fiasco with the paps they hadn’t gone to bed ‘til four, stayed up playing _Just Dance_ , forced to give up halfway through their first to five wins by the banging on the walls from the neighbour.

Judging by the racket going on downstairs Harry’s not having the same problem, though. The kettle’s whistling, and there’s Harry’s heavy steps on the wooden floor followed by the distinct sound of something clattering and smashing into a thousand pieces ringing through the air. Liam hops out of bed quickly, wincing at the cold of the floor on his feet before pulling a pair of joggers on and rushing downstairs. 

“Haz?” Liam calls out once he’s hopped down the last two steps and made his way down the hall. 

“G’morning sleepyhead!” Harry calls, all too cheerful for Liam’s sleep addled brain. Even though Harry’s not wearing trousers, nothing but tiny grey briefs, he’s still swimming in an overly large Christmas jumper-- it’s absolutely unsurprisingly hideous, a full living room scene with stockings hung over a decorated fireplace knitted on it. Harry seems completely unconcerned though, is currently running his eyes down Liam’s body instead, stopping just at Liam’s waist as he quirks an eyebrow. “Very good morning indeed.” 

Liam glances down, and of course he’s wearing the one pair of joggers that all the elastic has worn out of; they’re slipping further down his hips as he speaks. He narrows his eyes at Harry, pulling them up. 

“Like you’re any better,” Liam retorts, stares pointedly at Harry’s bum cheeks half out and Harry shrugs, grins completely unabashed, accompanies it with a short hip shaking jig before he turns back round to where he’s stringing up multi-coloured lights over Liam’s bookshelf. 

“Wait,” Liam says, “where did you get all this from?” Once Liam’s finally decided to tear his gaze away from Harry balancing precariously on his tiptoes, he finds his living room absolutely full of bags, spilling out with tinsel and baubles and something that looks awfully like a statue of cats with angel wings. 

“Been to the shops, haven’t I,” Harry says. His feet are getting tangled in the excess wire from the lights, but Liam doesn’t mention it.

“When?” 

“Maybe didn’t sleep last night.” Now that Liam looks at Harry’s face properly, Harry does look a touch tired, eyes slightly bloodshot and puffy, but then Harry half looks like he’s vibrating out of his skin, grin massive and eyes bright despite the hint of red. “Left about eight? Tried to wake you up, but you hit me. Dunno what it is, Payno, just after yesterday I’m buzzing for Christmas. Buzzing! Thought I’d decorate, so went on down to John Lewis. The world is my Oyster Card and that.” 

“Jesus, Haz. How much coffee have you had?” Liam settles a hand over Harry’s arm and Harry really is pretty much vibrating. Liam knows that once Harry works himself up into this excited tizzies, it’s hard to get him out-- most of the time they just wait until he crashes. 

“Two. Maybe three. Does a frappuccino have caffeine?” Pulling his eyebrows together, Harry looks thoughtful for a second before he shakes his head, blinking slowly. “Anyway, the only thing we need now is a tree.” 

“And why didn’t you get one of them?” Liam starts rummaging through the bags, there’s no real colour theme going on and half the ornaments don’t have anything to do with Christmas, unless a bauble painted to look like a boob is festive. It’s entirely Harry-esque and Liam finds himself getting that little tug of overwhelming endearment in the corner of his mouth; to be honest, it’s very Liam-esque too, but he shoves it back into the bag, not wanting to get too caught up thinking about-- what Harry later calls-- a ‘ _booble_.’

“I don’t think a 16 foot tree would’ve made it on the tube. Plus, it’s not the height of inconspicuity, although I probably could’ve hidden in its branches.” 

“You went on the tube by yourself?” Liam starts, but it’s a losing battle really-- Harry does what Harry wants to do and that’s pretty much it, so Liam changes angles. “ _16 foot tree_? My ceiling’s not even 16 feet.” 

“We could carry out some,” Harry says, making a sawing motion at the ceiling, “renovations.” 

He’s ridiculous, this is so ridiculous, and this is exactly what Liam imagined spending Christmas with Harry would be like, whether that’s a good thing or not. 

“Well get dressed and we’ll get that 16 foot tree.” Harry drops the string of lights quickly, bouncing on his toes as he starts out the room.

“Wait, wait,” Harry stops himself just as he gets into the hall, rushing back in and sliding on his socked feet towards one of the bags on the sofa. He looks slightly crazed, hair fluffed out in every direction so that it’s very Evil Scientist-like as he delves into the depths of the bags, pulling out what he was looking for with a noise of triumph. “Got you this.” 

 

\--

 

They’re wearing matching jumpers. Harry’s positively shining when they arrive at the tree market, not even wearing a coat to cover it up, which in turn meant that Liam wasn’t allowed to wear a coat either. It’s definitely a sight to see, crowned British Style Icon 2013 parading around in garish yellow with his bandmate trailing cautiously behind in a slightly more calm coral. 

Liam’s definitely not the pinnacle of fashion, he’s had his ‘ _what was I thinking_?’ moments; he’s not bad though, not terrible, but this might just be it. He can’t really find it in himself to be bothered anyway, not when Harry’s galavanting down a fake forest, pausing every moment to feel each tree, smell it, crouch down and inspect its lowest branches.

“Become the tree,” Harry whispers when Liam crouches down next to him, pokes unknowingly at its needles. “Opinions?” Harry asks, and Liam hums for a second, gives it a look up and down as Harry watches his face intently.

“Not this one. It’s a lovely tree but it’s too--” he trails off, makes a vague gesture with his hands.

“Exactly. Spot on, Watson.” Harry taps his own bottom lip with the tip of his index finger before nodding, moving onto the next.

“Hey, hey. I am _not_ Martin Freeman.” Liam catches up, falling back into step with Harry.

“What? Of course not. You’re more Lucy Liu.” Harry’s crouching down by another tree now, but it’s only a second before he’s shaking his head again, getting back to his feet and dismissing it. “Not as smart or sexy, but you’ll do. ” 

“Understandable,” Liam nods, although he’s slightly lost in how they got to this conversation, but Harry has his own way of thinking, even if it’s more tangled strings than a straight line. It’s good, though, keeps Liam on his toes. 

“None of these are even near 16 feet,” Harry huffs once they’ve nearly made their rounds. There’s one row left all the way at the other side of the carpark the market is situated in, and Harry’s probably talked to around 20 trees now. 

“It’s not always about the size, Hazza.” Liam catches on to what he’s saying before he even finishes, expects the snort of laughter from Harry, which follows straight after.

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t have to worry about that would you?” Harry turns his head to wink at Liam and Liam’s nearly caught off-guard. Secrets within the band are long gone and Harry’s not the only one who likes to lounge around starkers, so it’s a given that Harry knows. But it’s not the comment that has Liam stopping in his tracks and scoffing-- it’s Harry coming to a standstill right in front of him, Liam running into his back before he can even stop himself. 

The tree’s pretty tall, not 16 foot, but still towers over them, the tip of it would probably just brush the ceiling of Liam’s living room, thick branches spanning out. It’s not really the tree itself that seals the deal, though; it’s the look on Harry’s face.

“This is one the one, isn’t it?” Liam asks. 

Harry turns to Liam in his stupid matching Christmas jumper and his face all lit up like he’s the one covered in lights before nodding, poking a finger at the centre of Liam’s chest. “Elementary, my dear Watson.” 

Liam bites the inside of his lip to stop them from having matching grins as well as attire and pulls out his wallet.

 

\--

 

Thankfully with all the seats pushed down, the tree fits into the car with minimal fuss and they get it back in one piece, although there’s a hairy moment where Harry nearly actually becomes one with the tree and the floor and a broken piece of pavement. 

The tree takes up a large amount of space in Liam’s living room, branches spreading out from the balcony’s glass sliding door all the way to the edge of the telly. They’ll probably have to cut off the top, as it’s bent against the ceiling, sagging like a huffy teenager. It’s pretty perfect.

“Perfect,” Harry agrees, clapping his hands together as he inspects it. “Hey, it kind of like us.” 

Liam gives Harry a questioning look, and Harry hunches his shoulders, slumping, saying, “Tall, big, strong.” Harry emphasizes it further by puffing himself back up and flexing his arms.

“Smelly,” Liam adds with a nod, and Harry cackles, shoving at Liam’s shoulder. 

The sun’s all the way down by the time the tree’s nearly done. Liam doesn’t really know what he’s doing-- only half takes in the pep talk Harry gave him about symmetry and aligning patterns-- and in the end, Harry moves every ornament Liam puts on the tree with a admonishing click of his tongue.

It gets to a point where Harry’s moved around the ceramic candy cane with a bite taken out of it so many times that Liam grows fed up and starts decorating Harry instead, trapping Harry’s arms to his side a length of tinsel and tying in a bow around his neck, two green teardrop baubles hanging from his ears. 

“You make a pretty tree, Hazza,” Liam comments as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, thumbing open the camera as Harry struggles to stay upright.

“My true calling in life,” Harry says, shaking his head so the baubles swing. “Harry Styles leaves internationally renowned boyband to become household decoration.” 

“I’d buy one,” Liam says, and Harry laughs, his smile big and childish, all teeth as he aims it at the camera Liam’s pointing towards him. Liam manages to snap two pictures of Harry before Harry’s leg gets caught in the trail of tinsel and he flails, arms still tied to his sides, no chance of regaining his balance. 

“Timber!” Harry wails as he goes down with a painful sounding crash, but he’s laughing, bursts of it caught between trying to get his breath back as he wriggles to try and free himself. Liam would help, he really would, if he wasn’t cackling himself, tears in his eyes as Harry upends a box of lights on top of him, whining, “Help meeeee.” 

With a great amount of strength, Liam manages to briefly pull himself together, crawl over to where Harry’s flopping like a fish out of water and push all debris off him, starting work on trying to untie his handiwork, something that Scouts would be proud of. Harry stills under his hands, puffs out a last breathy laugh and Liam glances up. His cheeks are red, colour running down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his jumper, his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He’s still wearing that massive childish smile, completely blissed and happy, and Liam tears his gaze away to focus on his fingers instead.

“I think we’re done, but.” Harry pauses once Liam’s freed him, extending a hand to pull Harry upright. “Rock paper scissors for who gets to do the star?” 

Competition between the two of them is probably the worst idea ever, both unbelievably competitive and known for using increasingly dirty tactics. Which is why best two-out-of-three turns into four-out-of-five turns into Harry wiggling his fingers in the form of fire and Liam slapping them away. 

“How about,” Liam starts, trying to avoid Harry’s wondering fire fingers from grabbing his sides by gripping Harry’s wrists, “we both do it?” 

“Proper saint you are, aren’t you?” Harry snorts, still wiggling his fingers at Liam. “But, fine. Alright, we going to take a leg each or break it into pieces like Mean Girls?” 

“I was thinking more like--” Liam grabs the star and gives it to Harry, who scrunches up his mouth. “Just, spread your legs for a second.” 

“Excuse me, Liam. Where are you planning on putting this star?” Harry’s voice raises an octave or two and this is one of the rare times Liam actually catches Harry off guard instead. 

“Oh just do it, Haz.” Without much more of a protest Harry does, albeit exaggerated, bum pushed out and with a lewd wink, and then in two quick movements, Harry’s up on Liam’s shoulders, shrieking for his life. 

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Harry’s gripping onto Liam’s head like a lifeline with one hand, the other with the star in it. “Haven’t been on someone’s shoulders since I was like ten.” 

“Well, stop wriggling, otherwise we’ll both die.” Liam takes one cautious step towards the tree and then another. They’re more than tall enough to reach the top of it now-- Harry’s probably going to smack his head on the ceiling, but he may deserve it after aiming his hand fisted into a rock at Liam’s balls during the second round of rock paper. “C’mon, quick, I’m strong, but you’re like a sack of rice.” 

“Tssc, knew all those muscles were just for show,” Harry laments, but he’s releasing Liam’s face out of his death grip, leaning forward slightly so he can set the star in its place. “There we go.” 

Taking a step back to view their hard work, Liam grins, squeezes his hand where it’s wrapped around Harry’s leg and Harry flicks his ear in return. It’s nothing like the one his mum has at home, or the one Harry’s mum sent him a snap of; it’s a bit of a mess really, lopsided and a mishmash of colours, but it brightens Liam’s house, fits right in with the rest of the decorations strewn across the room, and it makes it feel a little more like home. 

“Next Laurence Llewelyn Bowen, I am,” Harry says after a moment, and he’s resting his elbows on top of Liam’s head and his chin on his palms. He hums a short quiet tune. 

Then Harry covers Liam’s eyes and says, “Lets play blind The Floor is Lava.” 

 

\--

 

After ten minutes of convincing Harry that it’s a terrible idea and then trying to pry his hands off Liam’s face, they end up sprawled on the sofa, main lights off, just the glow from the telly and the twinkling of the tree filling the room. It’s only about eight, but Harry’s finally coming down from his caffeine high, slurring his words, lids heavy and fully slumped over Liam, managing to burrow under Liam’s arm without Liam noticing. 

Liam’s half watching Harry Potter fall off a broom on the telly, half scrolling through his phone, which he’s beginning to neglect more by the day, answering texts from his mum and sisters and viewing all 15 snapchats Andy’s sent his way. Harry’s not even pretending to pay attention, despite his initial excitement when he’d seen the movie on the TV guide. His face’s tucked into Liam’s chest where Liam’s leaning against the arm of the sofa, Harry’s arm slung round Liam’s waist, their legs tangled under a blanket that Harry keeps periodically stealing. 

“I’d be a sick wizard,” Harry mumbles, lips moving the material of Liam’s jumper where Harry’s pressed against it. He stifles a yawn, eyes finally giving in to how heavy they are and slipping closed. “Dumbledore wouldn’t know what hit him.” 

“Probably your wand when you accidentally threw it at him,” Liam says, but Harry’s already out, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, soft snoring just barely audible. 

Biting his lip, Liam continues sifting through his phone, tweeting the picture of Harry all tied up along with ‘ _errrrrrrr Hazza got into a bit of a pickle Lol_ ’. Inevitably, it blows up in seconds, but Liam’s caught on the rest of his timeline-- amongst tweets from Niall about his sofa and Louis not wanting to get old, there’s pictures from this morning, ones he doesn’t even remember being taken. There’s just one that catches his eye though, has him opening it full screen and staring blankly down. It’s blurry, obviously taken in a hurry, but Liam’s got his arm slung around Harry’s shoulders and Harry’s bent over laughing as he walks. And. Well. 

They’re in their ghastly jumpers and Liam’s about 90-percent sure they’re laughing at something crude and terrible, but all he can see is the way he’s looking at Harry and it’s unsettling, twists a knot in his stomach. Harry shifts then, smacks his lips together in his sleep and flexes his fingers where they’re tucked under Liam’s back. 

“Harry, babe,” Liam gentles, runs his fingers through Harry’s tangled hair and scritches his nails along his scalp. “Wake up, love, me arm is dead.” 

Harry doesn’t shift, completely conked out, and Liam sighs, considering wriggling himself out from under him. It’s not that much of a hardship to say put, though-- probably even more bother to get himself upstairs-- so he shuffles down as much as he can until he’s properly laid out, leaning his head back with a sigh.

He drifts off a little while later, eyes slipping closed while a battle scene plays out on the telly, his fingers in Harry’s hair and his mind anywhere but. 

 

\--

 

It’s deja-vu-- the way Liam wakes up to a deafening bang. He groans, burying his head under the blanket, trying to take a second to find himself, figure out why he’s sprawled out on his sofa and not upstairs in his perfectly good bed. There’s no real time to process it before there’s the sound of footsteps outside of his blanket cave and a heavy weight plopping down on his legs. 

“Payno,” Harry whisper-shouts, hooking a finger over the top of the blanket to try and pull it down, but Liam keeps a firm grip. “Bro, don’t be an arse, I made you brekkie.” 

Liam pauses, sniffing the air. “Baaacoooon,” he drones out in his best zombie impression, which also sounds miraculously like Harry’s morning voice, before Liam slowly sits up, arms outstretched as he makes grabby hands at Harry. 

“It’s in the kitchen,” Harry says. “Some package came earlier too.” Harry leans back against the sofa and takes a bite out of his bacon sarnie, ketchup smearing around his mouth. Crossing his eyes to try and see his mouth, he pokes out his tongue, chasing the sauce, and Liam laughs, prods Harry in the side before untangling their legs.

Liam doesn’t remember ordering anything; he’d actually bought his presents early this year, picked up stuff as the tour unfolded, although it’s all still currently sat in a suitcase in his room. It’s a pretty small package, nondescript, and he furrows his eyebrows as he flips it over, starting to pull at the tape.

Inside is a ring box, plain, white and almost glaring when Liam sets it in his palm, studies it. When his fumbling fingers finally lift it open, it comes back to him with the twisting of his stomach, like a punch. He’d sent it off last month to get resized, bought it even earlier when he’d seen Sophia gazing at it for a beat too long. Silver, glinting, two bands twined together, gem inset to match her eyes. It was meant to be a promise, a promise which weighs heavy in his hand now. 

“Liam, did you get lost in the fridge? You’ve been ages,” Harry calls out, but his voice is already coming closer, and Liam’s still frozen, staring down at his hand. He’s not even-- he’s not upset, but it feels like it should be fresh; he almost feels bad that he forgot, that he hasn’t been thinking about it at all. The kitchen door’s swung open and Harry’s sidling up behind him, resting his chin on Liam’s shoulder and staring down at the ring too.

“I forgot about it,” Liam says, voice barely above a whisper, and Harry leans his head against the side of Liam’s.

“It’s a very nice ring,” Harry supplies, the epitome of cautious-casual, breath ghosting across Liam’s cheek, and it steadies Liam. 

“Yeah. It’s a shame, aye?” Liam manages after a second, and Harry hums his agreement, rubbing a hand down Liam’s arm as some sort of comfort before he’s pulling away. Placing the ring back on the table, not even managing to close it, Liam takes a step back, turning around. Harry’s still there.

“This might be a bad time, Li,” Harry starts, and Liam frowns. Harry’s eyes are trained on the ceiling and he has the smallest beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. “But I think we’ve got ourselves into a bit of a situation.” 

Following Harry’s eyeline, Liam finds a fresh sprig of mistletoe hanging right above them and Liam’s heart stops, skips a beat and then picks up the pace. When he looks back down, Harry’s gaze is trained on him, flickering down to his lips before they move back up, catching Liam’s stare. Harry looks coy, flustered, shy, and Liam holds his breath. They’re close, too close, and Harry’s closing the gap even further until they’re toe to toe, fingers brushing.

It starts and finishes in seconds-- Harry grabbing Liam’s face between his palms and crushing their lips together. It’s hard and sloppy and pretty gross, Harry still tastes like bacon and ketchup, and then just like that he’s pulling away, winking at Liam with a cackle before he legs it, laughter echoing through the hallway. Of course it was a joke, something over-the-top to get Liam out of his state, but it works. Liam finds himself laughing too, even if his chest feels slightly tighter. Shaking his head and rubbing his sweaty palms on his t-shirt, he takes chase.

 

\--

 

“Mercy, mercy!” Harry cries, arm twisted behind his back even though he’s the one straddling Liam right now, the one that should really have the upper-hand. 

“Magic words?” Liam asks, calm, content; he’s barely breaking a sweat.

“Abra-bloody-cadabra let me go.” Harry’s knee gets dangerously close to Liam’s balls so Liam relents, releasing his grip and Harry glares at him, rubs at his wrist before flopping full-weight on top of him. “One day, Liam,” Harry threatens, looking much like a kitten trying to terrorise its own reflection.

“I’m shakin’ in me boots,” Liam deadpans, but he takes Harry’s wrist in his hand anyway, rubs his thumb over where he was gripping.

“Just gotta find your weak spots.” Harry takes a few test prods at Liam’s sides, his neck, his shoulder, and Liam’s suddenly very aware of how they’re laid out-- every inch of their bodies aligned-- and he bites his lip. 

“Any plans for today?” he asks, trying to change the subject and also squirm away from Harry’s wayward fingers. 

“Always got plans, me,” Harry says, finally distracted and seemingly delighted about it. “Next on _Harry’s Fun Filled Days of Christmas Adventure_ is the magic of Winter Wonderland.” 

Liam’s face drops momentarily before he rights himself, but Harry catches it, eyes widening. “Oh bollocks, you were going to-- ah, I didn’t realise.” 

“It’s fine, Haz,” Liam cuts in quickly and it is. It will be. “I mean, I still-- still want to go. Even if it isn’t with her. Heard they have amazing sausage.” 

“Oooh, Liam, this is a family event, calm down,” Harry giggles and Liam can feel it where they’re still pressed together. 

“Shut up,” Liam retorts, pushing at Harry, but Harry stays as a dead-weight on top of him, held up on his arms. 

“Alright, well go shower you smell,” Harry says, finally hopping off Liam. He fishes for his phone. “I’ll call a car, it’s time to throw up on that ice rink.” 

“Wonderful.” Pulling himself off the sofa, Liam makes towards the bathroom, but not before aiming a kick at Harry who’s started belting out another Christmas tune.

 

\--

 

“Liam,” Harry says after taking one look at him. “Are we going to Winter Wonderland, or are we going to rob it?” 

“Just being a little bit inconspicuous.” Liam tugs at collar of his hoodie until it sits right under his leather jacket, starts pulling on his fingerless gloves. Okay, maybe he’s gone slightly over the top but he feels like muted colours on a public outing will be best after the bright coral jumper fiasco.

“Yeah, you’re right actually,” Harry agrees after a second, pulling on his thick winter coat. “Scare people off, make them think you’ll mug them.” Liam puts his fists up, pretends to throw punches at Harry, but Harry just bats Liam away, securing his scarf around his neck. “Car’s here I think.”

“Alright, let me just grab my keys.” Harry nods and goes off to start the trying 20 minute task of putting his boots on while Liam pushes into the kitchen.

The first thing he notices is that the table is clear, packaging all swept away and the ring, which had previously just been sat on the table where Liam left it, is hidden away, tucked behind a bottle of vinegar on the highest shelf. Liam pauses a moment -- there’s the distant sound of Harry clattering into a wall and yelping-- before he grabs his keys off the counter and leaves the room.

 

\--

 

“Sleigh bells ring,” Liam sings, dips down to his lowest range for extra effect as they make it through the entrance. “Are you listening?” 

“In the lane,” Harry joins in, hooking his arm through Liam’s when he gets back into step, clicking his fingers to the beat. “Snow is gli-- Wait, is that fake snow?” Liam doesn’t get to reply before Harry’s tugging him towards a stall at full pelt, coming to a quick stop in front of it. 

Harry wasn’t lying when he said this place was magical, although Liam had been unbearably excited since Niall went last year and then wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s giant fairground games and oversized prizes mixed with little wooden huts full of trinkets and handmade presents with the smoky smell of ten different barbecued meats hanging in the air. Liam inhales, letting out an exaggerated whimper, and Harry throws a handful of the fake snow at him.

“I’m sad it hasn’t snowed yet,” Harry says once he’s pulled Liam away from the first stall and carried on down the row, stopping every now and again to hem and haw over handmade soaps and ridiculous hats. Liam tugs Harry along when Harry stares at one in the shape of a panda for a moment too long. “Never had a white Christmas.”

“Let’s just fly to Antarctica, I’m sure we could afford it,” Liam says, picking up an intricately painted mug as Harry inspects a bejewelled festive shot glass.

“Mmm, I’ll book the tickets when we get home,” Harry says, setting down the glass. “But first, where’s the mulled wine?” 

 

\--

 

Mulled wine is, in fact, quite disgusting. But Harry lets out the filthiest, pleased moan, clutching the plastic pint cup in his fingers as he takes another sip, lips already a deep purple. There had been smaller more sensible wine glasses, but Harry had specifically bought the biggest he could get, even kindly paying for Liam’s. 

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” Harry offers, gulping his drink down like water.

“Oh no, I know what you’re like.” Liam holds it out of Harry’s grasp as Harry goes for it, even though their arms are still tangled together. 

“Says Mister Two Alcopops and It’s Time For Bed,” Harry snorts, glancing around to find their next point of action. Taking another sip, Liam tugs Harry left towards the massive stuffed toys and stacks of immovable green bottles. After he gets past the initial heady twang of the mulled wine on his tongue, it’s not that bad, warming him up with every sip. 

“That’s unfair, I wasn’t used to drinking,” Liam frowns. “And I don’t care what you guys say, you definitely tampered with, ‘m not an idiot.” 

“Potato, Tomato,” Harry mumbles, waving his cup around. Thankfully none of it spills, but Liam can already see it going to his head, the telltale glassy eyes and the way he clings to Liam harder. Really, if anyone’s the worst at drinking, it’s Harry-- and Liam’s spent too many nights sat next to him on ceramic tile with Harry’s head in the toilet to know this. 

This part of the park seems miles away from the wooden chalets and German carols, all towering game stalls with the owners shouting at them to ‘ _give it a go_ ,’ ‘ _test your luck_ ,’ which directly translates into: ‘ _give me your money and I’ll watch you embarrass yourself._ ’

“Gonna show them what you got, Payno?” Harry fakes an air punch, all of his wine most definitely gone.

Liam’s barely even halfway done. “Remember what happened last time?” Liam asks.

“Yes, you spent all your money, but still ended up winning me that giant Teddy.” Harry grins, teeth stained now too. 

It’s one of Liam’s clearest memories from their earlier days-- at some fairground they’d happened upon on tour, Liam determined and pretty vicious in his warpath against knocking down the skittles, finally hitting a ball dead centre. Harry stuck to his side for the rest of the night, Liam under one arm and Hubert the giant yellow Teddy under the other. “Still have it, actually, at mum’s house.” 

“You still have it?” Liam stops, pulling Harry to a standstill with him. Turning to face him, Harry gives Liam a curious look, biting his lip and eyes darting over Liam’s face, settling on his eyes.

“‘Course I do. You won it for me, wouldn’t get rid of that.” 

There’s a moment-- Liam’s not sure what it is between the wine and the blaring sound of Christmas songs around them, but he feels all out of sorts, like he’s just tripped or missed a note. He wonders what else Harry has kept, but decides he doesn’t really want to know. Harry sets his other hand on Liam’s arm, rubs his palm down to his elbow. “You alright?”

“Yeah-- just,” Liam tries to shake himself out of it, come back to his senses. “Yeah, fine. Wine’s just gone to me head a bit.” 

“Ah, once a lightweight, always a lightweight,” Harry states, and Liam guffaws, shoving at him, but Harry just squeezes their linked arms tighter, keeping Liam close. “Alright, there’s a giant teddy bear with my name on it. Time to win your date a prize.” 

Harry’s tugging him towards one of the unreasonably high basketball hoops before Liam can even process the sentence. Liam downs his wine in two quick gulps, barely tasting it.

 

\--

 

It takes 45 minutes and half the cash in Liam’s wallet to finally, _finally_ get the bear. He’s actually sweating, lip caught between his teeth in concentration, an empty pint of warm apple cider next to him, which Harry had gone on a run for when Liam had lost the fifth time. It’s probably embarrassing-- the way Liam throws his arms up in the air as the last ball sinks through the hoop easily and Harry leaps at him, Liam catching him with his hands just under Harry’s bum and Harry’s arms around his neck.

“My hero!” Harry crows, completely ignoring the crowd that’s gathered round them as Liam spins him, still cheering. 

“Probably could’ve bought the bear for less, really.” Liam frowns slightly now that the initial victory has worn off. Harry gets back on his feet, taking the bear off the vendor and clutching it to his chest. 

“This bear not only represents the 50 quid you forked out for your dignity, but victory, triumph!” Harry shakes the bear to emphasise the point, takes one of it’s pink fluffy paws in his hand and prods at Liam’s arm with it. “It can be our mascot.” 

“Like a band mascot?” The crowd around them starts to dissipate, leaving a few stragglers who’ve obviously recognised them and Liam’s surprised it’s taken them that long, although it’s not too busy for a monday evening. 

“No, no. Just ours.” Harry’s already gone through his second cider, words starting to slur together, while Liam’s still slowly nursing his own. “If Louis and Zayn won’t let me on their dumb van, then we can have a teddy bear to ourselves. It shall be called Edgar and so it is done.” He’s definitely more than a little tipsy, and it’s a slight worry seeing as they’re making a beeline for the ice skating rink.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright on this, Haz?” Liam asks, but he takes another few gulps of his cider to brace himself because he knows that either on their feet or on their arses, they’re going to end up on the ice. Liam doesn’t have much willpower when it comes to Harry, it seems. 

“You’d be surprised, mate. I’m like a swan on the ice, think I was made for it.” 

He is pretty good actually, surprisingly, after the first few initial stumbles and a terrifying moment with Liam’s fingers and the edge of the blades; he’s matching Liam’s pace, but still crushing Liam’s fingers in a vice-like grip. To be honest, it’s more like Liam’s towing Harry along and Harry’s remembering to stay upright.

“Like a swan, told you.” Harry grins, interlacing their fingers properly and Liam glances down, briefly, before watching the couple in front cling to each other. “Although there’s a strong possibility that I might actually throw up.” 

“Who’s the lightweight now?” Liam chides, squeezes at Harry’s fingers as they make another round, passing Edgar propped up on the bench at the sidelines. Harry blows Edgar a kiss. “You’re so fucked.” 

“N-no. Not fucked,” stumbling over his words, Harry manages to pull himself closer to Liam, avoiding a flying wayward six year-old, who actually looks slightly disgruntled that she didn’t come crashing into Harry, as if that was her plan. Which it probably was. “Merry, I’m merry. Merry Christmas.”

“Okay, babe.” Liam grins, turning his head to glance at Harry, who’s frowning at the couple in front, their matching gloves and hats and matching starry-eyed expressions on their faces.

“Sickening,” Harry fake gags, huffing all childish. “We look better than them.” Harry glares, end of the sentence trailing off into an inaudible mumble as they glide straight past the couple stopped at the railings.

“Huh?” 

“We’d make a better couple than them,” Harry continues without a pause, completely unperturbed, and Liam doesn’t realise how he’s tensed up, tightened his grip on Harry’s hand until Harry’s wiggling his fingers. Without even a chance to reply, to try and figure out what the hell Harry’s going on about, the time buzzer’s going off, signalling for them to get off the ice.

“Hey, I made it the whole time without falling over,” Harry whoops as they come to a stop. “It’s a Christmas Miracle!” And, of course, it’s then that Harry loses his footing, feet sliding out from him, landing arse first, shaking Liam out of his silent reverie. The fact that their hands are still joined takes him down too.

 

\--

 

With an aching arse and stomachs strained from laughing, they decide that any kind of fast-paced ride is a bad idea, not when Liam’s moved onto some kind of German beer while Harry stuffed his face with pulled pork. Liam’s feeling it-- a little giddy and overly excited and just on the other side of tipsy-- when Harry grabs his wrist, pulling him towards a giant ferris wheel. 

“Liam, hurry up. We’re gunna be late.” Harry narrowly avoids crashing into a cart selling hot chestnuts as he winds his way through the crowd, glancing back to check that Liam’s behind him even though Harry’s still got ahold of him.

“Late to what?” Liam shouts, stumbling into Harry’s back when he stops suddenly right outside the ticket office for the wheel. Harry doesn’t answer, just tugs Liam further forward as he starts talking to the vendor, leaning against the counter with Edgar tucked under his arm. 

The wheel’s nothing on the London Eye, but it still towers over the rest of the park, bright white lights illuminating it in the darkened sky, and if Liam squints, he can see two children pressed up against the glass in the top pod, waving down at the crowds below. 

It’s a few minutes before they’re escorted onto it themselves and Harry turns around as soon as they’re in it, beaming at Liam. With plush leather seating and a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket, it’s pretty lavish for the 15 or so minutes they’ll spend in it. 

“Styles, you charmer,” Liam giggles. 

“Proper wining and dining you, I am,” Harry says, flopping down onto one of the seats and setting Edgar beside him. 

“Yeah, ‘cept you ate all the pork,” Liam chides, falling onto the seat too, stomach lurching slightly as the pod starts to move. Maybe the fourth pint was a bad idea, but he still accepts the glass of bubbly Harry hands his way.

“‘M a swine,” Harry exclaims, over-dramatic, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, and Liam snorts just as he takes a sip, champagne hitting the back of his throat and spraying out of his nose. “Ugh,” Harry says, disgusted, “can’t even keep decent company these days.” 

Liam can’t stop laughing, clutching at his stomach, bent over with how much his shoulders are shaking, and Harry breaks soon after, leaning into Liam’s side with hiccuping giggles, kicking his legs and nearly upending the ice bucket. 

Just-- Liam feels like he’s on a high, wants to voice it because they’re halfway up the wheel and Harry would find it hilarious, but he can’t stop laughing for long enough to get it out, ends up dissolving into another fit just by looking at him. But that’s what he loves-- that today has just been so good and so has every other day, that it’s uncomplicated and fun and everything Liam wanted his time off to be, that even after three years of living in each other’s pockets it can still be fresh, surprising, different. 

They’re just reaching the top when Liam finally calms down, tries dabbing at the spilt drink on his jacket with his scarf as they fall silent, Harry’s body occasionally jolting with another hiccup. There’s some ritzy lift-type music playing through tiny speakers, but it fits the extravagant interior, the overpriced and frankly awful champagne, but it’s only when they hit the top that it really seems worth it. 

Liam’s always thought London is beautiful at night from whatever angle you view it, and it seems brand new tonight, like it’s the first time-- might as well be with how long he’s been away. There’s something oddly romantic about it too, with Harry resting his head on Liams shoulder, a flute of champagne resting between his fingers. Liam has an overwhelming urge to join their hands again, like on the ice rink, to maybe ground him when they’re however many feet off the ground.

“Hazza?” Liam asks, quiet, whispered above the music. They’ve come to a stop just at the peak of the view, and Liam let his eyes wander over all the tiny lights, the cars in the street, the miniscule ant-like people and building upon building, everyone living out their own lives as Liam takes a moment to pause his. 

“Mm?” Harry rubs his cheek against Liam’s shoulder, pressing closer.

“You know-- What you said earlier? About us?” Liam finally manages to get out, feeling suddenly sober. He waits a moment, then another, but there’s no reply, and when Liam glances down, Harry’s eyes are shut, cheek smushed against Liam’s arm, lashes fanning across his cheeks with the stupid dumb teddy bear, the teddy bear that Liam spent too long trying to win him, clutched to his chest. 

Liam doesn’t look at the view for much longer after that.

 

\--

 

Harry falls asleep twice on the car ride home, yawning wide when he manages to keep his eyes open for longer than five minutes. They manage to stumble through the door without much of a problem, Liam only missing the key slot twice before he pushes it open.

“I’ll get you some water then bed, yeah?” Liam says, dropping his keys on the coffee table before starting to pull off his layers. 

“Mm’kay,” Harry says around another yawn, plopping down on the sofa as he kicks his shoes off. “Li?” 

“Yeah?” Liam stops in the doorway to the living room, turning round to face Harry, who’s stopped mid-struggle to get his coat off.

“Thank you.” 

“It’s just a teddy bear, Harry.” Liam grins, shrugs, even though he knows its a bit more.

“Not just that.” Harry shakes his head, frown deep on his face and Liam knows he’s still tipsy, tries to take it into account. “I was really dreading this Christmas and-- you fixed it, always looking out for me. For the boys.” 

“Haz--”

“Fireman Payno coming to save the day,” Harry trails off, eyelids slowly drooping as he falls sideways on the sofa. 

Liam remembers Norway and the soft sound of the ocean, watching the sun hit Harry’s face _just right_ when he blathered on about wanting to save people, didn’t think for a moment that Harry would give it a second thought. With a small, slightly forced chuckle Liam turns back round, tries to attribute his shaking hands to the alcohol still in his system, still thrumming through his veins, making his stomach feel empty and his heartbeat a tad too fast. 

When he gets back in the living room, two glasses of water in hand, Harry’s already sleep, curled up tight with Edgar wrapped in his arms, face buried in the soft, candyfloss pink fur of its belly. He sets the glass to the side, pulls the blanket hanging off the top of the sofa over Harry, and doesn’t glance back as he makes his way upstairs.

 

\--

 

“Harry, the fire’s buffering,” Liam shouts from his cross-legged position on the floor, battling with an extra sticky piece of sellotape which won’t detach itself from his thumb. Loki had been dropped off about an hour ago, and after 20 minutes of darting through every room, jumping all over Harry and then Liam and then every piece of furniture, Loki’s finally managed to contain himself to these little bursts of excited pants, short breaths Liam can even hear from the other room.

“Just start it from the beginning, again,” Harry says as he appears through the door, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, Loki trailing behind. “This is what you get for not having a real fireplace.” 

Passing Liam his mug and placing his own on the coffee table, Harry grabs his laptop off the sofa, restarting the video. Harry had wanted a proper homely scene, present wrapping next to the tree with a fireplace crackling in the background, except Liam had lacked the fireplace itself. Not to be deterred, Harry had found a three hour video of crackling log fire and set it up on Liam’s massive telly. It’s weirdly comforting, makes Liam’s living room glow a deep amber with all the overhead lights dimmed too, and Loki circles for a second in front of the flickering telly, sniffs at floor before curling up, tail batting at Liam’s knee. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to keep my house how it is,” Liam mumbles, scissors catching on the wrapping paper after a smooth glide. He frowns, “Not move my kitchen to the other side of the bloody world.” 

“Heyyy,” Harry whines, face still decorated with bows as a result of an earlier scuffle. He plops down opposite Liam, across the mess of half-wrapped presents and gift tags. “I just didn’t like the vibes.” 

Liam snorts, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he absentmindedly grabs the closest object to him and chucks it. Thankfully, its a ball of ribbon and not the scissors. 

“When d’ya think it’ll be finished?” Liam asks, finally finished sticking himself to Ruth’s present. Turns out things in the shape of rabbits aren’t and will never be easy to wrap, and Liam tries to hide an exposed bit with a ridiculously large gold bow. It will do.

“Hmm, builders said around January,” Harry answers, eyebrows knitted in focus as he glares down at the box he’s wrapping himself, steady fingers working slowly as he runs his nail along the fold, makes it crisp and exact. “I’m excited but-- just think I’ll get lonely, you know? It’s a big house, there’s a whole room just full of bookshelves. Might use it for indoor golfing instead.” 

“Always welcome here,” Liam says.

“Dangerous words, mate,” Harry warns. “You’ll never get rid of me.” Next to him, Loki’s feet start kicking in his sleep and the fire crackles on. 

“Don’t think I’d really mind,” Liam replies, sincere, just on the edge of unbearably honest, and Harry slowly lifts his gaze, fingers still where they were curling the ends of a ribbon. Liam keeps his eyes trained on the corner he’s smoothing out with his own hands, peeling the tape off his finger, doesn’t lift his gaze up even when he’s done, just grabs the next thing and starts rearranging it. 

Liam smiles when Harry pokes at his knee with a socked toe and winds up leaving his foot resting there.

 

\--

 

With the presents all stacked under the Christmas tree, mostly for show as none of them are for either of them, their lot still with their families for when they see them, Liam moves to the sofa, spreading himself out and letting out a breathy _oof_ when Loki jumps up onto his belly. He tickles the underside of Loki’s chin, rubs his thumb over the soft fur of his muzzle while Harry tries to find the best angle to take a picture of the tree. Flat on his belly under the coffee table is what it ends up being.

“Can we please turn the fire off, think I know it off by heart now.” Liam makes the vocal equivalent of a hiss, pop and a crackle, and Harry laughs, getting back on his feet and stopping for a moment, snapping a picture of Liam on the sofa, Loki with his head tucked under his chin. 

“Unfair, Loki stole my place.” Harry frowns, grabbing the remote to flick through the channels, facing away from Liam. Liam’s hand stills with his fingers running through Loki’s fur.

“There’s two other sofas and still enough room for your tiny bum on here.” Liam tries to sound casual, but even he knows it sounds like he’s being choked, like he can’t quite get enough air into his lungs.

“Yeah, tell Loki that,” Harry retorts, almost in a huff as he takes a seat at the other end of the sofa, squirming around like he’s unbearably uncomfortable. Liam stretches out his foot to poke at Harry’s leg, much like Harry had done before, and Harry relents after a moment, falls still and drops his hand to rest over Liam’s ankle, thumbing over the slither of skin where his jean’s ridden up. 

 

\--

 

“Li, Liam, Payno, mate!” Louis’ voice comes belting out of his phone and Liam takes a quick glance to wear Harry’s inevitably dozed off, slumped over the armrest with Loki having decided that Harry’s head’s a comfier pillow than Liam. Liam manages to untangle his legs from Harry’s fingers, pushing off the sofa and padding out onto the balcony. “To what do I owe this honour?” 

“Just a quick check in, seeing how you’re doing. Totally random call, no reason,” Liam says, silently regretting his idea to come outside when it’s absolutely freezing, sky a dreary grey. 

“Oh shut up,” Louis bites, and Liam can hear his scowl even through the tinny speaker. “You tried to pull this last year and remember what happened.”

“Alright, alright,” Liam placates, sitting down on the bench, rubbing at his goose pimpled arms with his free hand. “Just-- me and Harry got in a spot of trouble, need you to get down to the polic--” 

“ _Liam._ ” 

“Fine!” Liam clears his throat, waits a second, and then starts singing _Happy Birthday_ as out of tune as possible. 

“That’s more like it, but I was hoping you’d tell me where my present was.” Louis’s trying to sound put-off, but Liam knows exactly how Louis sounds when he’s grinning; it’s hard to hide anything these days.

“We’ll go shopping in the new year and I’ll get you something, yeah?” Liam says, there’s the sound of Louis’s squealing sisters in the background and Jay yelling and it makes Liam’s heart twist a bit. He glances through the glass doors, finds Harry still fast asleep on the sofa. “Might even treat you to a Maccy D’s.” 

“And they said chivalry’s dead,” Louis replies with a snort. “How’re things for you? Haven’t wanted to kill our Harold yet? Saw pics of you skipping around Narnia in some proper manky jumpers.” 

“Nah, it’s good, really good,” Liam starts, cautious, trying to find the words. “It’s fun.” 

“Look’s like that word app is doing wonders,” Louis jokes, but his tone’s soft, questioning. “Looks like we’ll be having a little chat soon, huh?” 

“Nothing to say, Lou,” Liam tries. 

“Mhm, alright.” It’s obvious that Louis doesn’t believe Liam, and really, Liam doesn’t believe himself. “I think Daisy’s about to throw up an entire bag of chocolate coins, my fault really, so I better go. See you at New Years, though?” 

“Yeah, see you, then,” Liam agrees, and he waits until he hears the click of the phone hanging up before he lets out his held breath.

 

\--

 

Even after 20 years of Christmas mornings, Liam still wakes up way too early, stomach tight with excitement and practically buzzing out of his skin. That’s why, when Harry bounds through his door at ten minutes past seven he’s not that surprised, could already hear his pounding footsteps getting louder as he ran down the hallway. 

“Liam!” Harry calls as soon as he gets near to the bed, lifting the end of the sheet at the very bottom of the mattress, crawling under it and shuffling up the bed. “Liam, it’s snowing!” 

“What?” Liam croaks out-- even though his body woke him up, his brain’s still not ready, half caught on chasing an unfinished dream. “Really?” 

“Yeah, tons of it,” Harry continues once he’s unearthed himself from Liam’s bedding, tucked himself up against Liam’s back and pressed his freezing feet between Liam’s legs. 

“Dreams do come true,” Liam sing-songs, finally a little more awake. His curtains are shut so he can’t confirm it himself, but he trusts Harry not to lie; snow is not something to joke about. “Guess we won’t have to go to Antarctica.” 

“Eh we can just do it next year, yeah?” Harry mumbles, face pressed against the back of Liam’s neck as he talks, arms now round around his waist. It would be easy for Liam to let his eyes shut, spend their snowy Christmas morning snuggled in bed, but his mind’s a little stuck on Harry’s mention of next year. It’s off-hand, probably just a joke, but Liam feels that woozy flutter in the pit of his stomach again. “You, me, Edgar, and some penguins.” 

“Sounds ace,” Liam agrees. He doesn’t let his fingers entwine with Harry’s where they’re flat against his belly, wishing now that maybe he’d put on a top before going to bed so that he wouldn’t have to feel Harry’s cold fingers against his bare, tense stomach. He taps out a beat on the pillow in front of his face to occupy his hands.

“Liam,” Harry whispers. “Merry Christmas.”

“You too, Hazza,” Liam whispers back, stopping the tap tap tap of his fingers to run his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand.

The silence settles, and Harry’s wrapped all around Liam, steady puffs of his breath fanning out across Liam’s back, and Liam takes a moment to capture it, remember it. The day after next, Harry’ll be picking his parents up from the airport in the morning, and Liam’ll have to get a car later in the evening back to Wolverhampton so they can make up for their missed Christmas. Now, it doesn’t feel like Liam’s missed much though, and it unnerves him that maybe he’ll miss this more. 

 

\--

 

Liam’s trying to help, he really is, but he was not made for the kitchen unless it’s poking holes in a ready meal or making a sandwich. He knows Harry’s trying his hardest not to glower at his attempt at cutting up parsnips, but Harry’s doing a very bad job of it.

“They’re individual, special,” Liam says, waving one in Harry’s face. “Like snowflakes.” 

“Maybe you should go outside with the snowflakes,” Harry mumbles, turning away from Liam to check on the turkey that’s already been in the oven for half an hour. It smells delicious, invitingly so, but Harry hasn’t even let Liam eat anything yet, says that he can’t spoil his appetite. 

Liam throws one of his special parsnips at Harry and Harry growls. Even if things feel like they’ve shifted a little, annoying Harry will still be one of Liam’s favourite past times. 

“You know it’s just the two of us, right? We’re not feeding the whole street.” Liam starts on the carrots, peeling them with a contraption he didn’t even know he owned. 

“You won’t be saying that when you taste my stuffing.” There’s a pause and then Liam’s quirking  
his eyebrow and Harry’s letting out an exceedingly unattractive snort, steadying himself on the counter. 

“Harry, give me some of your gravy,” Liam simpers, voice a few octaves too high and Harry smacks his bum with the backend of a wooden spoon on his way to the fridge. 

At this point, Liam’s pretty sure the carrots are fighting back-- they must know Liam has no idea what he’s doing as they slide off the cutting board and onto the floor. 

“Uhm,” Liam says, frowning down at the getaway carrot, sighing. 

“Look, let me--” Harry trails off, abandoning his potatoes to join Liam on his side of the kitchen. Liam goes to move away, let Harry take over, but Harry holds him in place, hooks his arms under Liam’s and rests his chin on his shoulder, chest to back. “It’s not that hard, just gotta let the knife do the work.” 

Not really knowing what do with his own hands, Liam lets them rest on the countertop as Harry quickly chops a carrot into thick slices, still trapping Liam with his arms enclosing him. It’s so unnecessary, so silly, and Liam can’t help himself as he starts humming unchained melody, the distinct memory of Harry being the one to force him to watch _Ghost_ in his mind. Harry giggles right into Liam’s ear, though he quickly cuts himself off with a gasp as he drops the knife.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, pulling his arms away and sucking at the pad of his thumb. 

“You okay?” Liam whips round, circling his fingers round Harry’s wrist.

“You ma’e me cut m’self.” Harry says around his thumb, only letting Liam pull it away when he tugs hard enough. The cut is about the size of a pinprick and Liam fights the urge to roll his eyes when Harry wriggles it in his face. “Kiss it.”

“What?” Liam scoffs.

“C’mon, kiss it better.” Harry wriggles his thumb more obnoxiously, and Liam might just bite it off instead. “Or no Yorkshire puds for you.” 

Obviously Harry’s not giving up. _Obviously_. Which is the only reason Liam lifts Harry’s thumb to his mouth, presses his lips against it and leaves them there for a beat too long when Harry catches his eye.

“Better?” Liam mumbles, lips feathering across the pad of Harry’s thumb.

“Yeah-- uh. Yes,” Harry says, a little off, gaze somewhere distance. He pulls his hand away. “Always knew you had the magic touch.” 

With a laugh that doesn’t sound at all convincing, Liam nods and he doesn’t let himself linger for long before he’s turning back round to the carrots. Right. _Right._

 

\--

 

If there were any sweeter way to die than after three courses of delicious food and with a stomach fit to bust, then Liam can’t figure it out. Although, it doesn’t help how uncomfortable he is, spread out on the sofa with a hand over his stomach. Harry’s taking place on the rug, starfished and pushing Loki away everytime he tries to climb on his belly. 

“I’m going to die,” Liam groans, voicing his inner train of thought, and Harry makes a kind of blubbering noise back, waving a hand in the air. Loki jumps for his fingers and Harry makes another blubbering noise.

“This food baby is at least three months along,” Harry manages after a second, lifting his shirt up and rubbing a hand over his bloated stomach. He’d abandoned his spray-on jeans halfway through dinner to make room for more food so he’s in nothing but boxers and a top now; Liam’d sensibly opted for joggers before they even started. “Not sure who’s it is, yet, might need to call ol’ Springer back.” He pauses, as if talking is making him lose his breath. Liam completely understands. “I mean, between the turkey and the cranberry sauce everything was a right mess.” 

“Everything’ll be fine, Hazza,” Liam mumbles, eyes shut and head tipped back. “I’ll help you raise it. It can be our own, even if it turns out the real Father is the sprouts. Little Tony Stark Payne-Styles.” 

“You dare,” Harry warns and then groans straight after, immediately regretting any form of movement. “Like you’d come first? Tony Stark Styles-Payne, thank you.” 

“Deal,” Liam agrees.

“Can’t say I won’t kick you out if it was the pigs in blankets, though. Don’t think anyone could win me over those.” 

“Sh, sh,” Liam shushes him, waving a hand vaguely in his direction. “No more food talk, no more food ever, this will keep me going ‘til next year.” 

“Still got leftovers,” Harry says, though his flat tone implies he’s not in the slightest bit excited about it. “Can eat ‘em tomorrow.” 

Huffing out a breath, Liam specifically doesn’t think about tomorrow. It’s silly that it’s got him so worked up-- they’ll be back in each other’s space within no time, with the tour and more press and the fact that half of their job is to be around each other. But it feels like an end-- an end to, well, _this_.

 

\--

 

By evening, Liam feels more like a functioning human being, less like a stuffed turkey, and Harry takes full advantage as soon as he starts moving, throwing Liam’s scarves, gloves and coat at him, rushing out the door into the snow without a second glance. When Liam’s finally all wrapped up, Harry’s already lying flat on his back in the small island of grass in the carpark, now covered in inches of a near untouched blanket of white. There’s a little family of snowmen built up across the street, bundled up in scarves and hats, carrots for noses. 

“Join me, the water’s lovely,” Harry calls as soon as he catches sight of Liam, waving his arms out at his side. 

“You’re going to regret that when your dick falls off,” Liam says, scooping up a handful of snow from the wall next to him, balling it up in his hands.

“I’ll be alright, my dick’s taken enough abuse from you over the years,” Harry says, pausing and then glancing over at Liam. Liam snorts out a laugh, snowball flying wide when he tries to throw it. Harry’s already rolling over though, pulling himself up and shaking the snow off his jeans. “Now, now Liam, enough of this filth. It’s the holiest day of the year.” 

Liam pointedly doesn’t answer, bending over to scoop some more snow together until there’s a big mound of it, big enough for him to start rolling across the green.

“Snowman competition?” Harry asks, already starting to get his pile of snow together. 

“Careful, Styles. You’re challenging a master,” Liam calls back, ball already big enough for the bottom half. “I once made an igloo big enough for me and m’sisters. Started crying when mum made me get out of it, but turns out spending two hours sat in an ice cave by yourself is strange.” Harry laughs from behind Liam and then a thick spray of snow hits Liam’s back. “Oi! No cheating.” 

“How was that cheating?” Harry scoffs, hands on his hips when Liam turns to face him.

“Distracting me, I’m in the zone.” 

“ _The zone_ ,” Harry mocks, voice taking on Liam’s more northern traits, and Liam refrains from picking up his next ball of snow and chucking it at Harry’s head. 

Despite Harry’s initial mockery, he gets more into it than Liam does, tongue poking out of his mouth as he carves at it, spends ten minutes picking the right twigs for his arms before sprinting back into Liam’s flat to grab a carrot for it’s face. In the end, they’re both pretty awful, lopsided and muddy and Liam’s looks unfortunately angry. 

“Done?” Harry asks, inspecting his own closely.

“Nearly, just--” Liam grabs a twig from the ground and starts drawing on the middle ball of snow, carving away at it’s stomach. “Okay, finished.” 

“Is that supposed to be me?” Harry cries out, indignant, waving a hand at the shoddy butterfly/moth hybrid chiseled into it. 

“The resemblance is uncanny, really,” Liam tries, stifling a laugh as Harry smacks his arm. 

“You could at least get me anatomically correct.” Harry grabs the carrot off his, moves over to Liam’s snowman and sticks it where Harry’s crotch would be. 

“Well if you want it to be really accurate,” Liam trails off, plucks the carrot back, bites down the end until it’s barely two inches long and sticks it back. Harry looks from it, to Liam turning red with held back laughter, back to it before scowling and aiming a flying kick at it. “Harry!” 

But Harry’s already running away, back towards the door with his laughter trailing behind him. Liam tears the head of Harry’s snowman off it’s body and runs after him.

 

\--

 

Liam doesn’t realise he’s drifted off until there’s a hand on his shoulder, gently coaxing him awake. They’d been halfway through watching watching some Christmas cartoon, Liam can barely even remember what was going on, too busy watching Harry wrestle with Loki on the floor. Loki was definitely winning from the last he can remember. 

“Liam, it’s just gone midnight, mate,” Harry says, soft in the quiet of the room. Blinking open his heavy eyes, vision bleary, Liam yawns wide with his arms outstretched.

“Guess I’ll head off to bed then,” Liam mumbles, eyes still adjusting to the dim light. 

“Actually-- uh. If you could just-- wait a sec?” Harry looks oddly shy, uncertain like Liam’s barely ever seen him like. 

Sitting up, all traces of sleep instantly gone, Liam reaches out for him. “You alright?” Liam asks and Harry nods, smiles. 

“I got you something,” Harry says and it’s then that Liam notices the small box in his hand, perfectly wrapped with one of the stick on bows Liam had decorated Harry’s face with earlier. 

“Ha--”

“We said no Christmas presents,” Harry rushes out, sitting down next to Liam. “It’s not Christmas anymore, 12:04 see.” Liam checks the clock on the wall and lets out a disbelieving laugh, letting Harry place the present in his hands. “Happy Boxing Day.”

“Happy Boxing Day,” Liam echoes, still a little stunned. He turns the gift tag over and in Harry’s curved, bubble writing is ‘ _For you on this not-Christmas day,_ ’ with three lines of kisses scrawled under. 

“Well, go on, open it,” Harry encourages and Liam nudges him with his elbow, flipping the present over. 

He feels slightly out-of-body, fingers fumbling when he picks at the tape and pulls it back carefully. Usually, he’d rip the paper apart, too much childish excitement for the big reveal, but he’s trying to collect his thoughts, completely unprepared for whatever is about to be unveiled. The paper peels back to reveal a navy blue leather box, gold plated corners and a dip in the front for Liam to press his thumb into it, to slowly pull it open. 

Resting in pillowed surroundings is a shiny, gold pocket watch. Liam runs the pads of his fingers over the intricately engraved front, pushes down the dial so it pops open revealing the clock face, the centre of it transparent so all the working cogs can be seen, slowly ticking away. It’s 12:13 now and Liam can’t breathe. 

“I know watches are special to you,” Harry starts in a low, careful tone, and it startles Liam, his fingers slipping where they’re running over the raised sides of the watch. It’s a moment before Harry continues: “I know it’s not like the ones you have but-- you know me, quirky.” The laugh that follows sounds off, distant, doesn’t hit Liam’s ears quite right.

“Haz, you don’t-- this is--” Liam shuts the watch, taking in every little piece of the design, every groove and curve, committing it to memory under his fingertips. He remembers seeing tables of these when they went shopping that first time, knows that Harry probably picked it up then, but Liam doesn’t want to think about how long ago that was. Closing the box, Liam sets it on his lap and slowly turns towards Harry. 

“Alright Liam, people who get presents usually look happy,” Harry jokes, but there’s that air of uncertainty to it and it puts Liam on edge. “No need to cry on me.” 

“I didn’t get you anything.” Liam says finally, and its sounds petulant, a little absurd. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry grabs Liam’s hand. “You gave me all this,” He makes a vague hand gesture towards the tree, the presents wrapped under it, the dinner they’d devoured, the decorated room and their mini London adventures. “Couldn’t have asked for anything better.” 

“You’re a sap,” Liam teases, brought back to normality. Harry lets out a small disgruntled noise, and Liam squeezes his fingers. “Thank you, Haz, really. It’s gorgeous, I love it.” 

“Good,” Harry smiles and it’s always a blow to have that smile aimed at him, only him. “Think I’m gonna turn in, then.” 

“Okay,” Liam nods and Harry nods again, hesitates for just one moment before he’s darting forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Liam’s mouth.

“Night, Liam,” Harry whispers, still pressed close before he pulls away completely, untangling their fingers and heading towards the stairs.

“Night,” Liam calls out, too late, too quiet, staring down at the box in his hands.

 

\--

 

Liam’s been tossing and turning for nearly an hour now. It’s not that he’s not tired-- he feels exhausted to the bone, strung-out, but he just can’t drop off, can’t quite catch that edge of sleep. Even though his body’s ready to shut off, ready for him to slowly slip away, his mind’s thrumming, the quick pounding of his heart beating against his chest matching with the quiet tick tick tick of the watch on his bedside table. Although it’s shut, although it’s pushed to the furthest side of the table, Liam can still hear it, and if he concentrates he can even feel it. Just as he tries to forget it’s there, the ticking gets louder, like it’s right inside his head, pecking at his brain. 

It’s to no avail, even with a pillow wrapped around his head-- it’s doing nothing to deafen the sound and his fingertips start tingling before he even notices, the scratch of a craving buzzing in his skin, and he sighs one last final time before pushing the covers back, pillow thumping as it hits the floor. 

There’s a distinct still to the night, the air has a different feel, calmer than usual. It makes him pad down the hallway with a heightened sense of caution, avoiding every squeak and groan of the floorboards as he makes his way downstairs.

Down the hall Harry’s door is ajar. Liam can tell Harry’s curtains are wide open from the moonlight seeping through the gap and spilling out into the hallway. For a split second, Liam considers pushing the door all the way open, pushing that barrier down and finally stepping over. He shifts his weight, sucks in a breath, and holds the bannister as he carries on downstairs. 

The night’s just as still outside, not even a breeze in the cool chill. Liam wraps his coat around him even closer, fishes out the slightly battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket. It takes two flicks of the lighter with his numb fingers to spark it up, end glowing a sweet amber as he sucks in his first drag and lets it fall out of his mouth in a slow stream. 

The view from his balcony is gorgeous-- even better at night when all the harsh edges and monochrome colours of London are shadowed, just deep blue and twinkling lights and a single boat drifting down the Thames. There’s still snow all over, covering the trees and the unmoving cars, although there’s signs of it starting to melt, slow drips from the overhang above his head splashing onto the floor. He smokes the cigarette down to the letters, until he can feel it start to burn his fingers, and stubs it out, lighting another. 

“Liam,” comes from behind him, just short of a whisper. Liam doesn’t turn around, there’s no need when he obviously knows who it is, just shuffles across on the bench, making room. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Liam answers, although that parts obvious.

Glancing up, he’s met with Harry all soft around the edges, concerned frown on his face, hair a complete mess and fluffy blanket draped over his shoulders. He opens up the blanket as he goes to sit down, letting half of it fall over Liam’s body too, enclosing him. Liam takes the next drag too fast, hitting the back of his throat in a punch instead of a soothing scratch and he holds back a cough, eyes watering.

“You’re gunna freeze, H,” Liam says, trying to fill the silence with something. His brain’s finding it hard to gloss over the fact that Harry’s down to his boxers. Usually Liam wouldn’t mind the quiet, can spend hours in a room with Harry without talking, just the knowledge that they’re both there is enough, but this feels different, tipped on its head. 

“I’ll wait for you,” Harry mumbles through chattering teeth, shuffling even closer to Liam and resting his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam takes a pull, and then another. “Hey, Liam?” 

“Yeah?” Liam answers and Harry pauses, sighs, eyes cast down. “Haz, what is it?”

There’s a long-- an achingly long moment where Harry doesn’t reply, doesn’t even look at Liam, but then Harry’s slowly lifting his head, lip caught between his teeth and although he looks shy, nervous, there’s a hint of certainty in his actions, like when you know someone so well you’ve already calculated their reaction.

“I thought the watch would’ve made it obvious,” Harry says finally, followed by a breathy chuckle and a shake of his head. Liam grips his knees, digs his thumbs in to stop him feeling like he’s about to float away. His chest feels tights and it’s not the cigarette making him lightheaded. 

“I don’t know,” Liam replies, slow, steady, wondering how this is supposed to go. “I thought maybe it was wishful thinking. You’re a bit of a mystery sometimes, Harry.”

“Not for you,” Harry doesn’t miss a beat and all the shy pull of his lips and downcast eyes is gone, he’s staring Liam in the eye like he’s never been so certain of something in his life. Liam’s hands start to shake. “Never for you.” 

“No, not for me.” Liam doesn’t think he’s ever been so certain of something, either.

Then it’s easy -- easy for Harry to pluck the cigarette out of his fingers and drop it, easy for Liam to exhale that last bit of smoke, easy for Harry to shuffle closer, easy for them to tilt their heads towards each other and fit together. If Liam’s learnt anything in the past three years, anything from being pulled apart and pried into and forced to grow up and let go all at the same time, it’s to not think too much, take every opportunity, follow your heart, and everything else terribly cliché but inherently true. And currently the pounding in his chest is telling him to pull Harry closer, let Harry settle over him, knees astride his lap, let Harry lick into his mouth and clutch at his coat and tug at his hair. 

Harry tastes like the bitterness of uncaught sleep. He tastes like the fizz of champagne and candyfloss and laughing so hard he cries and safe, familiar, like Liam’s done this ten thousand times before, although he’s almost definitely sure this is the first time. The first time Harry’s whined into his mouth, tried to pull himself impossibly closer, huffing when it doesn’t make a difference like he can’t get close enough, that even though they’re pretty much plastered to each other, he wants more. 

“ _Liam_ ,” Harry lets out on a gasp when he pulls back, maybe due to the fact Liam’s just jolted his hips up, pressed the flat of his palm against the curve of Harry’s bum so that Liam ruts against him. The blanket’s falling off Harry’s shoulders and the thick line of Harry’s dick is so obvious in his thin boxers, so unfairly obscene and so easy for Liam to line up to, the front of his joggers not doing much to hide himself either. “Liam, Liam. Inside, please. Fucking freezing, this is so hot, but my dick’s about to shrivel away.”

And just when everything’s flipped on its head, Harry manages to recentre him, bring him down, pull him back. With a stream of misted breath, Liam laughs, dropping his head on Harry’s shoulder as he tries to gather himself, fingers still digging into Liam’s back. 

“C’mon, Li,” Harry coaxes, kissing the side of Liam’s head, his ear, lifting his chin up to press fleeting pecks to his cheek, jaw, the tip of his bitterly cold nose. “There’s a bed inside. Lots of horizontal surfaces, sure we can find one to fit.” 

Still trying to catch his breath, Liam can barely think about walking let alone stand up, doesn’t really want to let Harry go that far from him now that he’s got him so close. Harry doesn’t give him an option, though, clambering off his lap and taking his hand, pulling him up to. They stumble into each other, giddy and laughing and trying to kiss through them, but it ends up more like they’re just breathing each other in, tangled together as Harry tries to lead him towards the door. 

“Harry, I just--” Liam tries, fingers threaded through Harry’s hair and his other hand running up and down his waist, trying to smooth out his goose pimpled skin.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s fine. I know,” Harry mumbles, lips feathering over the soft curve of Liam’s neck, nosing at his jaw. With that it seems like enough, that it’s fine to leave whatever conversation that’ll come out of this for later, that it’s okay to step back and let Harry thread their fingers together, leading Liam back into the warmth. 

They’re like naughty teenagers stumbling through the house past their curfew, stealing kisses at every corner, Harry shushing Liam through bouts of giggles when they pass Loki sprawled out, fast asleep on his dog bed. It’s hard for Liam to just let himself be pulled impatiently through the hallway-- easily tugging Harry back by their interlaced fingers and using the leverage to press him against the wall, picture frames rattling when Harry hits it with a thud, groaning as Liam slots their legs together and bites at Harry’s collarbone and his shoulder and thumbs over his pert, puffy nipple. 

When they finally get into Liam’s room, what feels like decades later, Liam’s already so riled up and Harry looks ruined-- lips a raw red like they’d been after too much mulled wine, hair in complete disarray. Harry falls back on the bed, gracelessly and with a quiet squeak, bouncing up before he settles himself back on his elbows, his endlessly long legs spread out in front of him. 

In the soft glow of moonlight, Harry looks achingly gorgeous-- his soft thighs, the harsh cut of his hips, the fine hair leading down from his bellybutton under his boxers, which are riding unfairly low after Liam had tugged and pulled at them, teasingly run the tip of his finger across Harry’s waistband. Liam wishes he could take it in for a little longer, take in the fact that he’s the only one that will ever see Harry this way, staring at Liam like he’s the whole world and then a little more. But, even though they might have the entire night, more than enough time to take this slow and steady, the need’s choking Liam, suffocating him until he’s panting for air, trying to steady himself. 

He pulls off his coat and then his top, throwing it somewhere to deal with later, before he’s crawling up the bed on his knees, crawling up Harry’s endless legs and setting over his hips, following Harry as he falls back, bracketing Harry in with his arms either side of Harry’s head. 

Liam kisses him slow, deep, fucking his tongue in and out of Harry’s mouth and Harry groans into it, tries to rut his hips up against Liam’s arse, tries to get some friction, but Liam just pushes him down, wants to see what Harry looks like begging for it, completely wrecked for it. 

Harry gives as good as he gets though, sucking on Liam’s tongue in long, languid pulls, letting his jaw fall open like he wants, _needs_ everything Liam can give to him. He runs a hand down Liam’s front, fingers trailing over the smattering of chest hair, idly tracing the lines of Liam’s taut stomach, before they come to rest over the front of Liam’s joggers, using the heel of his palm to press down on the length of Liam’s clothed dick. 

“Fuck,” Liam gasps, wrenching his head away as the first point of pressure hits him, simmers something fierce in the pit of his belly. He can’t help but push into it, rocking his arse against Harry’s lap in turn, and even through both their clothes, he can feel the swell of Harry’s dick sliding against his crack. The way Harry moans then has Liam’s hips stuttering, his chest hitching on the next breath, surging in for another wet, hot kiss. 

Hooking his fingers into the sides of Liam’s waistband, Harry goes to tug them off, but Liam pulls back, shaking his head. 

“No, wanna taste you first,” Liam mumbles, voice sounding like it’s two earths away, and Harry lets his head fall back, huffing out a laugh.

“You’re gonna kill me, Payne,” Harry groans, throwing an arm over his eyes as if to block out the way Liam’s looking at him like he’s seconds away from devouring him. Which, quite honestly, is what he wants to do.

Taking that as a go-ahead, Liam starts on Harry’s neck, uncaring of who sees it when he licks over his pulse point and then bites, nips, sucks a glaring red mark of his own on Harry’s skin. He catalogues the taste, each untouched expanse of Harry’s skin getting his teeth, his tongue-- takes in how they make Harry react differently, arching his hips or fisting the sheets or moaning loud and unabashed. 

“Liam,” Harry breathes, choked on a gasp as Liam tongues over his nipple, puffy and pebbling under the quick swipes of his pointed tongue, the other pinched between a his thumb and forefinger. “Liam, please.” 

And Liam wants to ignore him, wants to suck at Harry’s nipples until he’s tearing up for it, trail slow kisses down the soft plane of Harry’s stomach, ghost his lips over the sharp cut lines of his hips until Harry’s sobbing, pulling at Liam’s hair and digging his heels into the bed to get some sort of grounding, but Liam feels like it’s been long enough. Hopefully-- hopefully there’ll be other times, more nights spent memorising each other.

“Okay, okay,” Liam manages, the first words he’s said except for broken off curses, and it comes out fragmented, squeezed out through his heart stuck in his throat. 

He takes a moment, when he’s moving back and settling himself between Harry’s legs, to watch. Harry’s chest is littered with red marks, patches rubbed raw with the stubble from Liam’s beard, slick wet trails of saliva, and Harry’s runs a finger through them, stops at his nipple, pinching and arching into it. Liam bites his lip, stifles back an embarrassingly desperate moan.

Taking a steady breath, although it rattles and hisses out, Liam leans down, hooks his thumbs in the legs of Harry’s boxers. Harry tilts his hips up, ready for Liam to pull them down, but Liam doesn’t, not just yet, uses the leverage instead to latch onto the front of his boxers. The material was damp already, moist with a smearing of precome and Liam laps it in, inhales, takes in Harry’s heady scent through the material. Harry’s hips twitch, knocks him off a bit, but Liam pushes Harry back down, works his tongue from where the tip is almost poking out from the waistband all the way to the bulge of his balls. 

Liam’s so fucking gone, absolutely no turning back with how hard he gets over just feeling Harry’s dick under his tongue, not even skin-- even just the thought has him circling his hips against the mattress below. There’s really no way for him to hold back now, now he’s got his first taste and he pulls Harry’s boxers off with no fuss, chucks them behind his head, ignoring the crash which quickly follows.

Harry giggles. Harry bloody giggles all spread out under Liam, dick bobbing up against his body, head a deep purpling red, glistening with wet, and Liam feels like he’s losing his mind, finds himself laughing too because he’s so arse over heels he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Casting his eyes up briefly he catches Harry’s gaze, who’s propped up on his elbow, watching Liam intently. Harry smiles, wide and open and even with how wrecked he looks-- he looks content, happy too. Liam smiles back, takes Harry’s hand to press a quick kiss to his palm before bending back down. 

Taking the base in his hand and thumbing the underside he presses his mouth to the head, lips closed as he runs the tip across his lip, teases it round his mouth, smearing blurts of precome over the swell of his bottom lip. He can hear Harry’s gasped curse, the way Harry’s hands fly to grip his shoulders and dig in and he ignores it, finally darts his tongue out to lap it away, press a sucking kiss to the head and taking it all in. 

Harry’s thick, stretches Liam’s mouth, and Liam hasn’t done this in ages, knows that soon his jaw will start to burn from the strain, but it doesn’t seem like Harry’s going to last long, not with the way his hips are stuttering, begging to fuck into the hot, wet heat of Liam’s throat. With a hand splayed across Harry’s belly, Liam holds him down, let’s his jaw go lax and throat open as he bobs, can’t help the moan that vibrates out of him. 

It’s one thing he’s missed. Liam absolutely loves giving head, so embarrassingly hot for it, and Harry’s heavy on his tongue, sharp and bitter, encouraging Liam with every cut off moan and tug at his hair. 

“Liam, fuck,” Harry whines, hips fighting against the grip Liam has them in. “Feels good, so fucking good. So close. Make me come, Li, gonna make me come so hard.” 

Looking up at him through his lashes, Liam lets out another groan. If the noises weren’t bad, the sight of Harry with his head thrown back, fingers tangled in his necklace and _tugging_ , other hand fisted in Liam’s hair is even worse. Liam has to close his eyes, has to try and hold himself off, becoming aware of the fact that he’s been subconsciously rubbing himself through his joggers, squeezing himself to take the edge off. 

The hand he has wrapped around the base of Harry’s dick is dripping wet with how sloppily enthusiastic Liam is and he pulls it away, runs his thumb down Harry’s balls before dipping lower and Harry’s legs spread, one knee hooked over Liam’s shoulder and the other stretched out to the side. Liam rubs the tip of his thumb over Harry’s hole, circles it, waits until he’s got Harry distracted with his mouth on his dick before he pushes inside. 

Harry’s blabbering, curses and Liam’s name and god knows what else when he arches fully off the bed, fingers painfully tight in the strands of Liam’s hair, other hand pressed flat down on the covers. He comes with an almost silent gasp and Liam takes it all, lets Harry shoot onto his tongue and chases every spill, working over Harry’s sensitive crown until Harry’s twitching, gasping at him to stop. 

“Jesus Christ,” Harry pants, spread out all boneless in Liam’s big bed, amongst his fluffy white sheets, which are pretty much ruined now. 

“No, just Liam is okay,” Liam croaks, voice thoroughly fucked and it’s such an awful joke, the worst thing he could’ve said, but Harry giggling helplessly, mindlessly reaching for Liam with a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. 

“Always wondered what that mouth of yours could really do,” Harry murmurs once he pulls back, and Liam tries to chase him, but he’s cut off when Harry quickly shoves his joggers down, gets a hand around him, no teasing as he starts to wank him off hard, fast, twisting his wrist and letting Liam grind down against his stomach. 

“Live up-- Fuck, yes, yes, yes like that--” Liam loses his voice, sentence cut off abruptly as his head falls to rest on Harry’s shoulder and from this angle he can see everything, see his Harry’s thick, long fingers wrapped around his dick. 

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that, love,” Harry says, voice steady and patient, and it makes Liam groan as he starts matching his thrusts with Harry’s hand, stuttering when Harry’s fist tightens. 

“Live up to your expectations?” Liam rushes out in one gasp, cocky arrogance gone when he feels his orgasm building in every muscle of his body, that delicious sweet burn. 

“Well, I still can’t feel my toes,” Harry says, he sucks a quick painful bite against Liam’s neck when Liam arches up, fingers twisting in the bed sheets. “Have to show you what I’ve got, though. Might eat you out in the morning.” 

Liam chokes, groans, hips fucking forward as Harry catches his mouth in a kiss, sucking harshly at Liam’s lip, pulling at it with his teeth and then Liam’s coming, spilling over Harry’s fist and shooting onto his chest, arms collapsing under him. 

“You’re a dick,” Liam mumbles, cheek pressed against Harry’s shoulder and Harry runs his hand down the plane of Liam’s back, letting him steady his breath and his shaking thighs. 

“Well, it’s too late to get rid of me now,” Harry sniffs. 

Liam manages for a brief second to lift his head up, nose at Harry’s cheek before coaxing him into a soft kiss and another, and another.

 

\--

 

The light in the room is soft in the afternoon glow. Although they hadn’t fallen asleep ‘til the first drips of sunlight started bleeding through the curtains, it’s easy for Liam to slowly coax himself awake, easier when there’s lips pressed to his chest and fingers playing with his hands, tracing out the swirls of his fingertips and following the lines of his palm. 

“Morning, babe,” Liam mumbles into the top of Harry’s head, which is resting on his chest. He wiggles his fingers in Harry’s grasp and Harry links his fingers through, nuzzling his cheek against Liam.

“Morning,” Harry sing-songs, rolling himself over so he’s straddling Liam’s hips, towering over him, their interlaced hands pressed back above Liam’s head. Harry’s face is sleep puffy, cheek red from being pressed against the covers and hair a state after falling asleep with it wet due to a rushed and exhausted shower. Liam wants to kiss him, wants to breathe him in and spend the whole day doing so, under the covers and away from the world.

Harry seems to get the idea though, his necklaces swinging down as he leans down, leans in and kisses Liam soft, sweet, closed-mouth and lingering. With a shaky exhale, Liam presses back, tightens his fingers in Harry’s grasp. 

The small nagging feeling of doubt itches at Liam, though, even if he’s got Harry sleep warm and trying to literally kiss him awake. It all feels a little too perfect, too smooth. 

“Let’s just stay in bed forever,” Harry says when he pulls back, nosing at Liam’s cheek before pressing a fleeting kiss there. 

Liam turns his head, presses another quick kiss to Harry’s mouth through a smile. “You’ve gotta pick your parents up tomorrow.” Liam says without thinking. He immediately regrets it when Harry frowns, sighs, flopping down on top of him.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry mumbles, and Liam kisses Harry’s forehead, thumb rubbing circles at the small of his back.

“I was thinking,” Liam starts, before he can make himself back out of it, “that maybe you could leave some of your stuff here? Like, we could do new years together.” 

Propping himself up, Harry stares at Liam’s face and Liam tries to not break his gaze, although he can feel himself slowly wanting to melt away into his bed and disappear. But then Harry’s grinning, cupping Liam’s jaw in his hand.

“If you needed a New Years kiss you could’ve just said, Liam,” Harry teases, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement, and Liam can’t help but flick him, dig his fingers into Harry’s sides and tickle him. 

Harry squeaks, tries to free himself, but Liam flips them over, evades Harry when he tries to knee him in the balls. This is normal, completely normal. Except now Liam can lean down and nip at Harry’s nose and then soothe it with a kiss, suck a bruise into Harry’s chest and have him groan and arch into it.

“This is good, though, yeah?” Even as Liam says it, he’s grinning down at Harry, who’s trying to pull Liam back into another kiss. But Liam just needs this, needs to have it signed and sealed before he’s in too deep. Which it’s probably a bit late for, anyway. “It’s not just-- we’re not just.” 

“Liam,” Harry glowers, taking Liam’s jaw in his hands. “A Harry is for life, not just for Christmas.” 

Liam groans. Harry lets out a stream of laughter and Liam leans in to taste it.

 

\--

 

**31st December, 23:34 p.m.**

The music’s way too loud, way too many people, way too hot and Liam’s way, way too drunk. It doesn’t help that Louis, the boy who’s been wearing t-shirts for the better part of the year, has made it black tie. Liam tugs at his blazer, tries to hear what Louis’s shouting at him over the music. He’s pretty much made his rounds, said hello to too many people, but somewhere between catching up with Zayn outside and trying to stop Niall going for a fully-suited swim, he’d lost Harry.

“Think I got a little bit out of hand with this one,” Louis shouts, cheeks flushed, chewing on the straw in his gin and tonic. 

Liam has no idea what he’s drinking himself-- something that tastes like Dr. Pepper but burns his throat too much to be just that. “Just a tad,” Liam adds, scanning the crowd. “Wouldn’t be a Tommo house party if you don’t find sick in all your potted plants.”

“Right you are, Payno, right you are.” Louis nods, just before he’s accosted by a pair of arms and a flailing legs that are all too familiar to Liam.

“Louis!” Harry crows, spilling half his drink on the floor and stumbling into Louis. Louis doesn’t seem that bothered, just hooks an arm round his neck and lands a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Harold!” Louis mocks and nearly goes fumbling down on the floor with him, coordination all off with the excessive amount of drink in his body and, well, Harry doesn’t need an excuse. Liam manages to steady them both, somehow, he’s not sure. He can’t really feel his arms. “You seen El? S’nearly time.” 

“Think she’s with Zayn and Pez outside.” Harry scrunches up his face in thought and Liam wants to kiss him. He wants to do other things, too, now he knows that he can, but mostly he wants to kiss him.

“Alright, lads. Well stay safe, I’m off to get m’lady.” Louis claps them both on the back, then a slap to the bum for good measure before he’s off into the crowd, high-fiving everyone he passes on the way. 

“Hey,” Harry grins, stepping closer to Liam and running his hands over Liam’s shoulders, down the crisp material of the arms of his blazer before he runs them back up his chest, slides his fingers around the back of Liam’s neck.

“Hello,” Liam replies, stupid dopey smile on his own face as he sets his drink down on the table next to him, winding an arm around Harry’s waist to pull him closer. Although Harry’s ridiculously attractive on most days, a suit and tie does him wonders and it’s hard for Liam to keep his hands to himself, when Harry’s in tight, tight jeans, sheer shirt with the first few buttons undone. 

“Missed me already?” Harry nuzzles his nose against Liam’s stubble, bites at the cut of his jaw before resting his head on Liam’s shoulder, thumb rubbing circles in the short hairs at the back of Liam’s head. It’s that woozy, heady, overwhelming buzz again and Liam knows it’s not just the alcohol anymore. 

“A bit, yeah.” Liam answers, wishing Harry’s shirt wasn’t tucked in so he could slip his fingers under, spread his palm out over Harry’s back and feel him skin to skin just for a moment.

“Good,” Harry hums and Liam presses a kiss to the side of his head, starts to sway them slowly.

They’d arrived back in London at completely different times, Liam already having left for Louis’ to stop a growing breakdown over different crisp flavours while Harry made a quick trip to drop his stuff at Liam’s before arriving when the party was already in full swing. They’d barely managed a ‘ _hello_ ,’ have already been caught snogging in the photobooth. It’s nice to have this moment now, a calm in the centre of the storm.

Harry pulls back, fingers unthreading from the back of Liam’s neck to run over the chain hanging from Liam’s blazer, trailing under the lapel. Following it with his fingers, Harry pulls the watch out of Liam’s pocket, thumbing it open. Liam feels himself flush a little, unsure why he’s really embarrassed, but it feels like much more than a watch, something so completely and utterly personal to just them and no-one else. 

“It’s nearly midnight,” Harry says, runs his finger over the face of the watch as it ticks on in his hand. He shuts it, placing it back where it was.

“Hmm, better go find someone to kiss then.” Liam pulls a questioning face and Harry bites at his shoulder.

“Yeah, do that and you’ll have to learn how to blow yourself.” Harry scowls. 

Liam can’t help but laugh, happy and giddy and dizzy with everything. “Such a charmer, Hazza,” Liam says, and it takes him right back to their little private pod over London, their own little island under the stars. He’s definitely still drunk. 

“Only for you,” Harry says, suddenly serious, and Liam takes Harry’s face in his hands, fingers curled under his jaw to pull them closer. The music quiets around them and everyone starts cheering, but Liam can barely hear it. 

“Only for me,” Liam nods, noses brushing, and Harry eyes fall shut, lips parting as Liam leans in.

They’re already kissing by the time the countdown hits three.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://wearecities.tumblr.com/post/70684998611/baby-its-cold-outside-liam-harry-22-000w-he)


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